Where Tugboats Turn Ships

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.