Swan Passing

by Aidan Andrew Dun

swanp yes

When she drops
her long neck
back between
her wings
she makes
the letter
of her own name
like a crescent.

I talk to
her as she
drifts past
to the south:
what a fathomless
beauty in
the world!

Now with
a clapping
on the straight
she’s gone
shuddering white
cloud smaller
above her wake.

I say to
myself:
the world
is an alphabet
but few
have the
secret of
its reading.






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