Anticipation Ode

suppose we disclose just

   how the moist bead

on a swan’s brow might

   double as our motion

to carry – just that: to

   marry Now; it’s plastic

stuff we make a mould of

   and fall in. Caked.

Suppose this wet jewel

   a credule; coin it

new particle, effervescent

   present. Set up song

here among the supposition

   crimes; the What Is

mimes. Lean forward. Toes

   claw towards the ground.

Our perch faces front.