The light was dreaming for the swans:
A morning mist, an autumn drift,
For necks to lift and court their kiss.
I wonder how I’ll break the news.
The leaves beneath my feet were soft,
But dry despite the time of year:
It could have been the perfect walk.
We are apart – so nothing’s changed.
I close my eyes and count to ten,
And nothing’s changed: it never will,
No matter how you try to hide.
This train pulls further from that past.
And closer to the end of things.
Oh god: the beauty of those swans.
This poem was written as a response to the photograph by artist Cheryl Garner. It is part of an on-going collaboration.
The photographs, with poems, can be found at:
the work of Cheryl Garner can be found at: