i saw swans on that lily pond once, just past the spring house…

gliding wing to white wing in a water-bound waltz to a symphony of birdsong and elk calls that ricocheted through stone wall corridors shrouding the meadow under melodic fog until a morning breeze folded it away beneath the laurels like a keepsake quilt

…but i’ve not seen swans there since, and no one else remembers them

— thaddeus moore