Ice white swans in flight,
flashing overhead, carving
sinuous trails across the sky.

Lithe bubbles
blowing
in the wind,
reflected in the frozen glass below.

A blow comes
and the flock
fractures,
shards discarded in the wind,
a whirring, collapsing kaleidoscope
skittering heavenwards.
Swooping, wheeling, random
aimless.

Sweeping spirals homing in
on their current
infatuation.

I shudder and leave
my frown in that mirror,
still searching
for
a perfect flock,

pure, white, wild, abandonment

finding instead its nemesis
equal, opposite
cool, clear and confident
serene and wild
and
content.
Black swan.