We are

a lamentation of swans-

singing our last song

of war:

we’re staying afloat-

our home is a boat

bobbing on the waves

in a dance of death-

we are afraid

our dream is pieced

by the keeper of peace

of a heartily belligerent shore—

we are afraid

we are letting

our hands and feet,

our throats and lips

go winter

Posted for dVerse Meeting the bar: Irony hosted by Frank Hubeny