Swans in flight over resurrected bridges –

this must be how fairytales begin,

long before they are voiced or penned;

just a sense in the mist,

a rippling in the unbreathable air,

the hint of a promise of a golden day

stirring in the blood,

half-formed characters in the wings

nursing hopes for a happy ever after

then some fallen shoulder angel

hot in the ear of the dreamer whispering

why settle for a bevy

when you can have a lamentation …