I see the future, always hovering in shadows.
How the afternoons sail by, short
in hindsight, so indistinct—blur of soft
dove-gray, goldfinch-yellow. A shell-pink spell
in which she’s bending, supple
as a willow, green, sanguine
or dune grass blowing on sandy
slope splashed with navy shade—  

Do you still see her? Waist deep in shallows,
sun-warm? Time sparkles, shimmers—
swells in magic circles, then slides off, white swan
vanishing into a mute reflected sky.