dusk,
                       alone
                  still,
             afloat
           a lake,
        she stretches her neck straight up,
      points her beak moonward,
      then spins gently, counterclockwise,
       every turn a beauty and sadness

       as placid surface slowly eclipses
      white body of folded wings,
      with barely a ripple, then taut neck,
          little by little, until upturned beak
           sinks as
               iceberg
                   returns
                       to
                  sea.

item #673
title: how a swan dies
form: concrete poem
index: karlo sevilla

Karlo Sevilla is a freelance writer who lives in Quezon City, Philippines. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Philippines Graphic, Yellow Chair Review, Radius Lit, Rat’s Ass Review, Origami Poems Project, the respective first anthologies of Peacock Journal and Riverfeet Press, and elsewhere. He also coaches wrestling, trains in Brazilian Luta Livre, and does volunteer work for the labor group Bukluran ng Manggagawang (Solidarity of Filipino Workers).
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