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Perhaps,
in the exaggerated grace
of his weight
settling,
the wings
raised, held in
strike-or-embrace
position,
I recognized
something more
than swan, I can't say.
There was just
this barely defined
shoulder, whose feathers
came away in my hands,
and the bit of world
left beyond it, coming down
to the heat-crippled field,
ravens the precise color of
sorrow in good light, neither
black nor blue, like fallen
stitches upon it,
and the hour forever,
it seemed, half-stepping
its way elsewhere--
then
everything, I
remember, began
happening more quickly.
Carl Phillips
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Read poems about / on: sorrow, remember, light, world, raven
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Comments about this poem (Leda, After the Swan
by
Carl Phillips
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comments about this poem (Leda, After the Swan by
Carl Phillips
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David Gerardino
(12/25/2005 8:11:00 PM) |
GREAT POEM, did you put out a book of poems called, THE REST OF LOVE?
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Carl Phillips
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