Drowned Feathers in New York

Graceful, sad queen of the swimming birds

covered in tulle and leaping-

your sickness was hidden so well.

So bloody your nails, so clean your face,

your mind tilted into a broken Arabesque

and split like a hologram projected from a shattered lens.

Like light spinning in your red water,

we heaved full double-distortions on our sobs

reflecting in the glazed eyes of our Swan Girl-

now gone.