The Waterplane

by Aidan Andrew Dun

swan yes3 cropped

Towards evening
the sky cleared;
the sun positioned
himself at
the peak of a grey
transformed volcano
of flaming summit.
It seemed
the ashes of the day
were descending
in the form of twilight.

I looked up
from my window
screen of wonders
noticed outlandishly
a giant crossing
the blue:
a white swan
labouring across
metropolitan skyline
surging in the void
with huge body
weighing down.

her shadow
fell over the city.
Where sinuous fluidity
made everything
seem more rigid
her fight to stay
airborne made all
below more terrible.
(Fairytale of the swan
flying over the town.)

Driving wing-beats
enormous energy
into the neck
curved in dynamic
sine-waves upward
somewhere a
stretch of steel-blue
water called.

You’ve heard of
legendary Garuda
phoenix, firebird
who lays her egg
high in the cosmos:
plunging down
seven skies
the red egg
breaks open
but the young one
skims away up from
earth just in time.

cannot be burned.
In similar
the swan of the Upanishads
the Puranas, went over
winging her way
through unsympathetic
airs, noticed
by someone
lazily tracking
the horizon.

Her only
impression, no!
In the anthill of concrete
somewhere a foaming
madman stopped
in his tracks
sprang backward
from compulsion
looking at the sky
with wonder
in the face of a child.

swan 7 sepia