William Meyer April 1, 2013 - 1:51pm
There they were, in conventional prose,
dabbling together in a break in the ice,
unnoticed, unnoticing of the surrounding glass.
The caught train of lightning in the face
of the rising mallard and his brown wife
shook the sun and held the wind
back, while they obliquely swam
nowhere, together, in the distant fun.
for us and for them. For the dead hand
of winter and for all swimming swam.