Narcissus with Wings

Narcissus with Wings

When you meet a swan
  There are always two,
One upon the water, formal,
  The other below, reflected as normal,
Both with their wings arched high, or below,
  Each as Heaven or Neptune’s feather clouds,
Each bird thinking themselves the more noble,
  Dismissive at the sight of their double

These two, though together,
  Disregard each other,
Dipping through the waterline neck to neck,
  Seem to swallow the other’s head
Deep down into their crop,
  There to waive at us while diving
Both tails, up and down,
  One big bird of two head-butts

Conjoined about the plimsoll
  They swim with unseen feet,
Proclaim themselves the masters over geese
  And process as the most adamant of crumb thieves,
Appointing themselves both cheater, referee, and warden,
  Yet to whom we toady bread tossers fear to harden,
For, while unsound (they never speak),
  No mute swan met was ever meek