four swans feel no cold
on black water
heads below
feeding
the dog, sick and shivering
can’t look away
but we can walk only so far
until a cracked tide takes
the shoreline back
and so
the steep climb to the road
up
ice, this
simple treachery
turns the old pavement glass
translates rain
into, unrolling a shimmering
crystaline world
from the river to the road
the swans can’t see
me falling, hear
me curse it all to hell
heads below
feeding
the dog can't look away
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