Antoine, the swan, hour is near

He spins like a ribbon in the wind

Yvonne, his mate, knew so at dawn;

the bronze light on the pond told her so.

Antonine burst into dance, entranced.

The dark pond ripples in response

Circling her, neck curved, eyes locked,

Each motion a summoning of love.

Their world on water and land

will never vanish in love or memory.

The soft ache beneath their feathers

crescendos louder, then louder still.

The sky cracks and bleeds slowly.

Not wanting to look away,

but knowing it must cease the moment

and take Antoine away.

In the final seconds,

the hush of their hearts beat in unison.

Soon sorrow will ask to be wrapped in light.

One slipping hurt into echo,

the other left in grief’s long shadow.