Across the wide waters
Something comes
floating– a slim
And delicate
Ship, filled
With white flowers
And it moves
On its miraculous muscles
As though time didn’t’ exist,
As though bringing such gifts
To the dry shore was a happiness…
Of course! The path to heaven
Doesn’t lie down in flat miles.
It’s in the imagination
With which you perceive
This world,
And the gestures
With which you honor it.
Oh, what will I do, what will I say, when those
White wings
Touch the shore?
Mary has written of swans before in “Swans of the River Ayr.” There she speaks of the calamity of our kind in taming the wild, in taming ourselves. The child can see this fierce chaos, but somehow we domesticate our urges, and hence life around us. I wonder if it is true that the difference between vengeful swans and swans of beauty lies only in our imagination. What if we did keep the child’s nonlinear expansive story telling ability, the near magical dream world they live in, and bring that forward to our hearts and minds today? In other words, what if we were poets? Would we be creating a kinder, more loving world? One of stark reality where our imagination says, yes, death is yours sweet one, and my life, the swan’s life, is your life. Perhaps we don’t live in that world because it is too wondrous, too awesome, too powerful. If we did we’d be bowing in recognizing our self-less power all the time to ducks in the park, slugs in the garden, and trash in the street.
What would you do when the swans come to shore?
I think I like that non-linear world of children. Thus, I surround myself with them.
ReplyDeleteIt is a bit confusing, but I think when the swan comes on shore it is referring to death. There are hints such as her missing her husband that the swan will take her to heaven or some after life. If a swan came to me offerring to take me to another life or heaven or just to be buried in the earth, I'd say, "Great! I'm ready to try something new.