A rooster and a goose fought at the Battle of Hastings
and they had a swan. They both rejected their progeny.
After the estates were confiscated they went into the Surrey
woods to roost. The swan left its stains and up the Thames
found refuge in Richmond. Poor little abandoned swan.
William of France make a pillow for the bird from the head
of a truculent lord. All the curly hair matted neat as thresh.
Those noble eyes stared home. The swan could always
find her way in the gray. What flowed and what was still
was more east than north. The wind always seemed to say
“Whoso lists to sing I can find none more pleasing
than the silent swan, who being alone dreams on.”
January 10, 2017
New York, NY