Moment, Suspended

In my imagination,

sometimes I am a swan

and we dance together,

your arms lifted, my neck unfurled

as we twirl for spring-green

shoots of sweet pond grass,

the sunlight warm on our outstretched wings.

Even as a swan, my rubbery toes overlap

onto yours once or twice

then once again until you laugh.

Your breathless, human laugh.

Finally, come sunset, when the treetops

gleam golden and the sunlight burns red

this swan-me flies like a brushstroke

across the sky and you are the painter,

guiding the smear of my feathers

into a perfect, cloud-like arc.