A shadow falls
on our cribbage. The motel window
is a glass wall down to grass.
A huge swan
is looking in: cumulus-cloud body,
thunder-cloud dirty neck
that hoists the painted face
coral and black. Inky eyes
stare at our lives.
It cannot clean its strong
snake-neck. It stands
squat on its yellow webs
splayed to hold
scarcely up the heavy
feathered dazzle.
All of us stare. Then
in a lurch it turns
and waddles rocking,
presses the stubble, to the tip
of the blue pond. Sets sail
in one pure motion
and is received by distance
and the shadowy girl
across the water.
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