The Kiss

16 line poem

The swan, a whisper apparition of white and feather

  and pale plume,

Filling in phosphoric presence the very geometry

   of my outlined room,

Was spreading her wings invincible to subtract

  from she and I all creation,

And mute, her silent song submergence, the bird

  was suffusion, surprise, elation. 

Awakened, sense surrounded, the swan was no dream

  substance swimming before my eyes,

But was mine totem arrived, not summoned,

  nor ever sent from heaven's skies.

The swab had come to me seven times counted

  seven crises before,

Materializing on her own, a wonder a reassurance

  and a healing rapport. 

But now new grace beyond earth, this mystery

  was again with me this nocturnal hour,

Winged and white, supreme and superb in stilling

  all senses in my bower.

Then suddenly the swan was preening my face's cheek

  with her night black beak and bill,

As I, swan-blessed, gazed with amber eye, open arm,

  and peace-ridden chill. 

Then, precipitate, in full wingspan surrender,

  the swan in ecstasy and closing eyes,

Was falling full forward to envelop me full

  and fuse with me into Eclipse Rise. 

Raymond Lee Collins

January 18, 1993

Midnight, Lost Lagoon

copyright reserved by the publisher

Carol A Wells