Swan Dance

I soar the lake
of your secret name—
questions raining
like the sun,
little white bones
floating up my spine.
The mysteries
of your swan dance
shadow my house,
distant lands
ring clear.
When did you go?
Among the pines,
falling stones
empty the air.
The lake flies to me;
bells sound, far away.
A reflection of dust
is pulsing,
searching out
this empty space,
with brown eyes
into the world’s
indelicate spin.