Out of the grey sky lake
The six joined by two
Appear near the islands
Flying   Not ducks   not geese
Eight     Winging in a line
Tip to wingtip at eye level

Contact with one     Recognition
Then connection with the gliding
White feathering Swans approaching
The shoreline and my doorstep

Rebelliously   abruptly one turns
Leading the apparition westward
Followed by a squawking chorus
Of fading complaints and dreams

Slowly the apprehensive afternoon
Regains its grey breathlessness

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