Swans Reflecting Elephants by Salvador Dali, 1937
 
 
We turn away from the lake,
from the elephants floating below
 
its stilled surface.
When I hold a go cup
 
to my ear, I hear
ocean water spilling forth.
 
Salt intrusion is almost
invisible. I miss
 
when cypress thrived,
the memory of moss hanging
 
like a net of light. Back then,
swans were swans,
 
necks arched in song
and everywhere
 
we looked, otters.
Osprey, their calls echoing
 
harsh. More bird, then—
reflection of feather and thirst
 
The forest now skeletal, hollow.
Wherever we go, clouds
 
follow. Why is it now so quiet?
I strain my neck, tilt
 
my head and ache
to know what notes
 
come next. Everything I held
back now breaking.