Swans at Galway Bay

By Floyd Skloot

Seven pairs of swans preen
this morning near the docks.
We walk down together
searching among the rocks
for a perfect feather
to commemorate the scene.

The swans float, one foot still
tucked underneath a wing,
the other held steady
as a rudder. They seem
both unconcerned and ready
for whatever the day will
bring them as they drift past.

Soon they are swept away
in pairs where the River
Corrib surges into Galway Bay--
from here just a sliver
of jagged slate-blue glass
but fierce enough to spin
them sideways toward the sea.

Paired still, they carry on
their slow ceremonies,
adjusting with utter calm
to the currents they move in,
content, it would appear,
to end up wherever
they find themselves as long
as they are together,
each feather where it belongs,
each mate with a clear
line of sight to the other.

We have come to the docks'
end emptyhanded. I turn
back, but she stops to watch,
holding me there as one
small feather drifts to shore.