Monday, March 21, 2016

octet with swans & irrigation wheel lines

when we first walked out you could almost count them:
snake necks, those heraldic white wings miming flight—

then dormant grass vanished as the flock settled
into acres of snowdrift in mud season;

Thorn Creek swirled white gray that March overwhelmed
with snowmelt; we felt much the same, unknowing—

they slept just the one night amongst pipes & wheels:
it was all about a place to come back to


Jack Hayes
© 2016

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