Moment, Suspended

In my imagination,

sometimes I am a swan

and we dance together,

your arms lifted, my neck unfurled

as we twirl for spring-green

shoots of sweet pond grass,

the sunlight warm on our outstretched wings.

-

Even as a swan, my rubbery toes overlap

onto yours once or twice

then once again until you laugh.

Your breathless, human laugh.

-

Finally, come sunset, when the treetops

gleam golden and the sunlight burns red

this swan-me flies like a brushstroke

across the sky and you are the painter,

guiding the smear of my feathers

into a perfect, cloud-like arc.