In the cold the swan sits
a four-foot spear in her hand
with its point shaped like a heart
soft and wet.

For a while she watched the moon
that shone between the paper pine
tree branches mutely
a cheese britney

Shadow whirls at her feet
around and around
the water in her eyes
calm and unmoving
salty
it supports no life.

Her webbed toes are squeezed into shoes
they no longer hurt, but feel comfortable
she remembers pain
and so she wears them; why change what is comfortable?

There was a time the swan liked pain.

A mouse whispers in her ear. She doesn't listen.
She has forgotten the language of mice.

Along the swan's wing runs fluid
or something warm and moist.

I want to tell her something--

She doesn't listen. She has forgotten my language.
I will forget it soon too.
Everything disappears, Father
Nothing is saved, Mother
I watch the disintegration
through it I know something exists
the emptiness draws me
I miss it
miss the feeling
that tells me what I am
that I am
that I am not emptiness.
If emptiness loves me, I still exist.

--but I don't dare.