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Black Swan

Spring’s golden children skip stones
In August’s haze, through humid want.
Smart sparkle girl, weed boy unwanted
Upstream on the River Youth.
Far from the life pond of experience.
Intersecting paths, circles, from opposite shores
Carried downstream, caught behind the dam of regret.
The Black Swan born from the depth
Busting the surface in a spray of passion
Effervescent avian firework ignited
By the spark of an affectionate memory
Unknown consequence.
The delicious taste of regret
Like a kiss good night.
The Black Swan leaves a trail of charcoal feathers
Gathered up in the daydreams of a poet.

Comments

  1. SandyCarlsonFebruary 6, 2010 at 5:57 PM

    Those feathers create a deliciously soft, if hard-won, place for daydreams.

    ReplyDelete

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