What Nature Allows

When mother, through a window
open to the sanctuary of what we had seen,
had announced to the hills and rocks
that dwell on them, granite and sandstone—
after she had called with an echo
in her voice to the sun receding
behind a clump of trees, to bear her message
to the other side that her son was missing
and had last been seen when he left home
on a bright winter day, afraid still of things
nature allows men, she dreamt
a fortunate dream of him walking with us
along the highway. A swan flapped
off a lake when we passed, went for the woods,
shaken by some truth unknown to us who,
bent on leaving Babylon, lifted every stone
along the way and walked each kilometre
forward, as that swan grabbed its yellow legs
and flew into the world toward its eggs.