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Personal Note:

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Poem

It happens mostly out of sight, 
under cover of the world,
life ebbing away or is seized
by a claw or fang, suffering
in corners, enduring what fate
cruelly inflicts. Each night, 
millions die, are torn, choked, 
or swallowed whole
or simply wear out leaving
no trace or a word anywhere.

Yesterday, 
I saw a solitary swan
up river from the bridge
slowly heading out from the bank
and into the channel 
where tugboats turn ships
before sliding them 
sideways into dock.
Mid river, it held up both wings
and began to flap and look
for speed and lift in the still air.
One wing seemed unable
to travel the full arc of its
flighted sweep and soon
gave out to leave the swan
floundering lopsided until
it gathered in its wounded wing
and settle it back slightly askew
into its cradle and then paddled
off into the past leaving
its wake to linger here for awhile 
before it withers away
into the endless still of oblivion.

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