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+---
+title: Swansong
+subtitle: alternate version
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+This poem is dry like chapped lips. \
+It is hard as teeth---hear the tapping? \
+It is the swan song of beauty, as all \
+swan songs are. Reading it, you are \
+puzzled, perhaps a little repulsed. \
+Swans do not have teeth, nor do they sing. \
+A honking over the cliff is all \
+they can do, and that they do \
+badly. You don't know where I'm going. \
+You want to tell me, You are not you. \
+You are the air the swan walks on. \
+You are the fringe of the curtain \
+that separates me from you. I say \
+that you are no longer the temple, \
+that you have been through fire \
+and are now less than ash. You are \
+the subtraction of yourself from \
+the world, the air without a swan. \
+Together, we are each other. You \
+and I have both nothing and everything \
+at once, we own the world and nothing in it.