Why The Swan

Because the swan floats
up close.

Because the swan has no life
off past the cut-off.

Because the swan is a knife
turned in on itself.

Because the swan erases
unwhite surfaces.

Because the swan is a sign of
what to expect, like a specked cough.

Because the swan isn’t
drawn like an ear. It listens

but it won’t hear, won’t look
up in time. It’s as if it’s stuck.

Because the air shushes sirens,
because the canal divulges silence,

because the curves have been stolen
from what’s left of the swan,

which is its song, of course –
the long stretch between locks.