She asks me, in The Swan, <br />Whether I have figured out what beauty is for <br />Whether I have changed my life, <br />This Mary Oliver, <br />This woman I do not even know. <br /> <br />Where does she get off <br />Probing me like this <br />Seeking of me something more <br />Seeking of me depth of soul <br />Seeking of me careful thought. <br /> <br />One swan <br />Lifting off from the cool bed <br />In which she floated the night away <br />Becomes beauty incarnate <br />Drips diamonds from her flight <br />Melts into the day’s calling sun <br />Like Icarus clothed in his father’s wings <br />So long ago, <br />But this time, this one time, <br />This one swan <br />Does not fall to earth <br />This one swan continues on <br />Until her beauty is but a memory. <br /> <br />Did you, Mary? <br />Did you figure out what beauty is for? <br />Did you see that beauty is memory <br />Before it’s forgotten <br />Before it fades <br />Before it melts and falls into the sea? <br /> <br />And did you change your memories <br />Today <br />The ones that make life new? <br />And did your swan come home? <br /> <br /> <br />3/17/2004<br /><br />Bob Bowers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mary-oliver-poet/
