The Whistling Swans

For seasons I had waited for this thing, The whistling swans to seek my marsh again— When suddenly, out of darkness, wing to wing I heard their wild white flutter swift and plain Lighting upon the waters where stars were sleeping. I pushed my door into the trembling night And sought the marshes’ edges, softly creeping Like a slow secret in the pale moonlight. Safe in the marsh they floated, spreading wide Their wings like day unfolding in the sky, And as I listened as near as I could hide, I prayed some latening neighbor might happen by To share that music, far too much for one To listen to, deep in the night alone.