Poetry

After the Wedding

everywhere was Sunday-silent by the river in the early morning as they slid towards me—twenty seven swans describing a heart each following the folded cup of the wings of the swan in front, making a shape that’s round, like valleys and hills, breasts and roses, smiles and eyes, then coming to an apex, like prayer and churches, like an act of love, spears of the irises bright and sharp in the water each yellow beak leading, each long neck forward and yearning, each pair of paddling feet, blessing the river, coming together like a congregation witnessing love, honouring a rose-crowned…

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