transported by mists of evening,
a pool, jet-black, mirror-still.
On the horizon,
the bark of white-tipped, silver birches
etched on phosphorescent sky.
in a lifetime, a moment such as this
that could so easily be missed …
So I waited.
Afraid to move, to breathe, break the spell,
till my heart became replete
dark water and white-tipped birches.
Whiter still, a fingernail moon – just rising.
Save a pair of mating swans,
slicing through the quietness of it all.