Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Swan Song

At the wild mouth of the Merrimack, 
I pivot north to rove the shore. 
My Atlantic is quite pacific today; 
I feel my lake-like waves advancing 
like the white caps on a pond 
that seems like adolescent yesterday 
although it’s fifty years in memory now.
I didn’t know I was the lake back then,
and when I dived into the water
from the Dubois diving board,
I was really diving in myself.
This later insight arrived in meditation.
Earlier this morning I saw a swan upriver
floating on the slow outgoing tide.
I felt its graceful curve of neck in mine
as I turned to watch it pass, a brilliant
arc of white within the silvery mist.
Our silence watches all of this and knows
that none of this is what I am;
space-time is a single dream with infinite
dimensions in unfathomable intent.
Listen, the swan is going out to sea.

No comments:

Post a Comment