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June 7, 2013

He watches the swanlings from the shore then parallels their effortless movements along the bank. As their grey-down shapes leave the shallows, he beings to pick his way across rocks and the higher ground to trail them still there. From beneath the yellow span of the bridge, he spies them again and muses that, while others have taken note of him the watcher, the swanlings have gone unseen. Are these swanlings seen by his eyes and no others? Are these swanlings born of tongue, tongues or his alone? What is a swanling, he wonders, dead eyes, unseeing eyes following them still?

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