“One does not die of love—that’s the horror.” Jean-Luc Marion The Erotic Phenomenon, 156.

Mute swans gather and

open and close their great wings

and cough in the dusk.

In autumnal cold

they cough with desire and splash

into dark water.

You, always with me.

Silence is no answer and

I sing a swan song

to the too muchness.

The swans have cleared the cove now.

You, always with me.