My Swans Wheel Away

[after the manner of Hans Christian*]

my swans wheel away

in disbelief:

could I be theirs?

I mourn in the mirror of the

skies, perfecting my reflection

in dismay

quaking in the clear pearl shadows

of their going

my swans turn away

from my frank, happy question:

"is it you?"

incapable of reply

so lofty, made of snow,

but hard;

even in blue-bell decked

midsommer, never melting-

pleased with one another

preening the crystal feathers

out of reach like stars-

they shine and blur

or is it only water that's

so dazzling

and can't be called back.

it's only I-

am sobbing "clouds on clouds"

drifting further than could be expected -

(all-in-all)

and won't be comforted

by any tribes now-

mary angela douglas 22 july 2010

*poems references are of course to Hans Christian Anderson's The Ugly Duckling and represent a kind of alternative ending, or maybe it's a case of the false swans before the true (appearing).