Day 8
The Swan Princess : Kirsty Niven
The moon above, a broken egg-shell,
a glimmer of light, a hope unfulfilled,
I wait for the dance to begin,
the flurry of feathers, a spell shed.
I look out over this lake of tears,
a reflection white and ghostly –
a haunted woman, longing
to swan dive into its depths.
Closer to Leda than true love,
surrounded by burst yolks
and drowning in a static grief.
Jay Rubenstein - mobile
inspired by a poem by Craig Raine
“Caxtons are mechanical birds with many wings
and some are treasured for their markings –
they cause the eyes to melt
or the body to shriek without pain.
I have never seen one fly, but
sometimes they perch on the hand.”
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