When Men And Gods Were Swans

Swans.
In that, the simplicity of nothing that
Is beauty but had been.
They were swans then, the men among
The guilded pillars evident
Of a Land conquered, the high white houses
Riding the fog off the
Twin Rivers,
The Swamps.
The men were swans then, in
Blue lace and eloquent intent---how conflict
Breeds purpose, how men start
Wars to prolong the need
For war.

Beauty is only the pain that
Comes after pain. The
Transference in Liberty that is
Only Men…
Only swans.

Zeus transfigured Himself, a God, to a
Swan for Love
Which love can be
And cannot, as Independence,
Then as men were swans.
The Battle waged
Over the Middleton Plantation
Green and homespun, Beauty again,
A few years and they
May resurrect the Old Gods
Only to lose them
To necessity. That
Is the true breath of beauty, when it eats of
Itself to provide for:
When all the
Gods really were swans
(Zeus to a swan-swan to Zeus is
but the Same)

Here, now,
Leaning against the travel-hot truck grills
Over the Old Paths of the
Militia, sparrows
Perching.

Not swans.
Not now.