IN THE FAR-WESTWARD BAY
In the far-westward bay, along dark shores
the autumn swans return, I now can see.
They rock in silence close to land once more
And at high tide are mirrored in the sea.
I have seen faces that contort with pain,
I have seen people part but with a frown,
heard doors that slam, cars drive off once again,
but now the swans return and settle down.
There was a world, a coast, far to the north,
one such clear autumn day, with winter near,
I sat and viewed the far end of a fjord
and swishing wings approaching I could hear.
Then all fell silent. Many years passed by.
Now I hear beating wings again on high.