Early morning
when the sun pauses in its rising
and the noise of humanity
has not yet begun,
I will undress at lake’s edge
quiet as glass,
slip off my body
like an old nightgown
tangled with dreams,
set down my antlers and snakeskin,
empty my pockets of pollen stored
and without a ripple
glide like Rilke’s swan,
carried by an old chant,
to the other shore.

by Nadine Boughton