The river bucks its bed, rising erect
upon its flowing fork. What is a swan
that’s not a river? Rocks, flows, plucks, drops, drifts
all wriggling in in the temporal delight
of gravity defiance. Strings take flight!
As when waves break into misty insects,
the whole seems to split suddenly and fall
back into a familiar bed, but then,
the reclined body hovers, suspended,
beyond angelic midair river swan.
[This is based on a still from a video clip, viewable here: