If I Were a Swan

I would ride high

above my own white

weight. I would ride

through the lightening

of the earth

and the darkening,

stillness and turbulence

coming on in the core

of me, and spreading

to the hard rain,

to the dazzle. Leaves

would turn, but I

would keep my eyes

in my head, watching

for grasses. This

is what I would know

deeply: the feathering

of my bones

against the bank.

For the rest,

I would be the easiest

wave, loving just enough

for nature’s sake.

The world would move

under me and I would

always be exactly

where I am, dragonflies

angling around my head.

Under the black mask

of my face, I would think

swan, swan,

which would be nothing

but a riding, a hunger,

a ruffle more pointed

than wind and waves,

and a hot-orange

beak like an arrow.