One with neck folded,
two swans with their young signet,
like feathered ice floes.

I’ll take these small things:
a pair of swans taking light,
us, taking it, too.

The darkening marsh—
unfazed by the setting sun,
swans circle and dip.

I'll sleep on this hill,
my long neck tucked on my back—
the pond, all I need.