Floats toward the edge

                                         of N

                                               I

                                               A

                                              G

                                              A

                                              R

                                               A

     e                                             Falls.

Pr ening and billing her plumage.
 

Beautiful in her introspection
indifferent to the path her breast
                                                        u
takes in the swift eddies and c   rrents.
Sheer inertia in the face of momentum.

The graceful arc of her neck drawn up
  in mock decree
our black swan’s orange beak
stands out like a traffic cone
  directing with nods and nudges
sidewise, likewise winking her beady eye.

Our black swan is exhausted
  a dirty dishrag wrung out.
Nevertheless sunlight reflects
from her obsidian feathers

Signalling,
     “Pray for a tomorrow
      Better than this.”
as she churns toward the turbulent edge.

We wait for the impetus
that ignites a nerve ending
in the wingtips of the doomed creature.
“Lift!” we say to ourselves.

“Lift and fly!”