A Whiteness of Swans
A whiteness of swans swim together––
Paddling, dunking, honking
Their feathers and bodies blending in with one another
Where one stops, another begins.
I choose to be injected
with tannins made by a wasp
The needle scratches and sears its delicate design
My arm has taken a feather,
its tip trailing ink…
Forgive me if I disappoint you.
But the ink has set its mark––
and the feather is black.
