Pristine image, pristine voice,
recordings from a cloister in Canada.
Not a clue what the lyrics say –
I’m in the world of my own mind,
in which I now willfully depart
from a luscious green sunlit shore
– pushing the vehicle away
from land –
this vehicle which is a swan,
sending it into the mellow ripple
of the lake, where other swans
abound, moving slowly,
making slow turns.
There is a ghostly silence.
Did I create that?
I try to ask my swan,
but there’s no sign
of understanding in his dark eye.
I look down and see the regular
paddle of his black feet.
I do not know where this journey
is going, this journey
in the world of my own mind,
but I’m calm on my calm vehicle,
and do not worry about reaching shore.