KIRK WESTPHAL

BENEATH A BRIDGE

– the one I cross between homes,
I saw a swan sleeping at midday,
head folded from the light,
alone, not looking.
They mate for life,
and so I have a thousand questions.
Did you feather her spirit to rest,
or did she just never return?
When she was here,
breakfast was called gathering.
Now it is scavenging.
Do you remember her scent
arriving before she did?
Nothing seems like yours now,
not even the River.
It is all taken.
And the space she left beside you –
what is its name?

But no, one day cygnets.
All along it was her, tending,
And so my last question is
Where are you?
You mate for life, you know.

Then one day I see you,
just downriver,
swimming back,
baptized in a frail white.

Note: The bridge in this poem is the same bridge as that in the poem “Eden,” published in the Winter-Spring 2015 edition of Dunes Review.