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 <p><span class="line">This poem is dry like <a href="time-looks-up-to-the-sky.html">chapped lips</a>.</span><span class="line"><a href="no-nothing.html">It is hard as teeth</a>—hear the tapping?</span><span class="line">It is the swan song of beauty, as all</span><span class="line">swan songs are. <a href="poetry-time.html">Reading</a> it, you are</span><span class="line">puzzled, perhaps a little repulsed.</span><span class="line">Swans do not have teeth, nor do they sing.</span><span class="line">A honking over the cliff is all</span><span class="line">they can do, and that they do</span><span class="line">badly. You don’t know where I’m going.</span><span class="line">You want to tell me, <a href="about-the-author.html">You are not you</a>.</span><span class="line"><a href="swansong.html">You are the air the swan walks on.</a></span><span class="line">You are the fringe of the curtain</span><span class="line"><a href="elegyforanalternateself.html">that separates me from you</a>. I say</span><span class="line">that you are no longer the temple,</span><span class="line">that you have been through <a href="fire.html">fire</a></span><span class="line">and are now less than ash. You are</span><span class="line">the subtraction of yourself from</span><span class="line">the world, <a href="finding-the-lion.html">the air without a swan</a>.</span><span class="line">Together, we are each other. You</span><span class="line">and I have both nothing and everything</span><span class="line">at once, we own the world and nothing in it.</span></p>
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