Bicycle Ride

In front a black cloud masks the sky.

Behind me the sun’s levelling beam

illuminates against it, white,

brilliant, one swan high in flight

across the flat fenland.  No dream—

this is today and I am I.

No swan, though, is just a swan.

A loaded image: birds of Coole,

Lir’s three children, Elsa’s brothers,

and the white godhead, Leda’s lover.

That long-stretched neck, those purposeful

pinions, legend is lifted on.