| Swan Lake |

Inspired by the obvious
and thee not so freely grasped

How is it
that I came
from that mud-
wedge fitted fate,
once enchanted
by the kiln
like a moth seeks
torch's flame,
to curl toes
at water's edge
(my forest steps,
no memory...)
by a dawn-licked
hedging palm
holding loose
a new haunting -
the lacuna fugue
of Cyprus' waters,
winged form
of Aphrodite,
a misty wraith
hung cold as death,
('twas foretold,
this loss of breath)
yet so full of words
without speech
like murmurations
of starlings;
oh, siren song,
how far your reach,
like the sonnets
sung in calligraphy
that gave us
stories so divine
like the tragedies
of the Greeks;
this ambrosia-
choked fortune
suspended liminal
in between
Eros' arrow
and a crossbow,
adolescence
and maturity,
individuation
or enmeshment,
the loss of love
or memories...
muse of many
yearning waters,
youthful zombie
of my dreams,
gliding identic
through the lake
beneath the lune,
transfiguring;
be it by hex
of baron's curse
cast in covet
for punishing,
Odile for Odette,
we chose our course,
the spirit freed
while drowning.

@benjamin_lee_hopper

09.06.23
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