The Swan (Oliver: Bone)
For my small, incredible Great-Nanny, who loved Swans, who has been gone for seven years too long.
Inspired by Mary Oliver's poem by the same name.
Inwardly descending, shifting across the creek
with the grace of a purest babe
and careful, as mother carrying it
'her ship, filled
with white flowers–'
dancing upon the early-grey
of ghosts, in their holy chariots.
I miss my Grandmother's company–
within perfectly penned lines and
of course! Songs a-sung -
hymns of angels never-heard.
Secrets shift beneath a surface,
too fine and infinitely thin
Hollowed out on gutted instruments of man they are played,
left safer untouched - lingering ear to ear, eye to eye,
with almost words,
Hover back, dear fullest ship,
with cargo of earnest pleasures,
carry your goodness between this life and next
safekeeping histories of the goddess 'neath your wing.