Through the Tamarack
Lake sky and waves,
then winter would conjure the black bear twin
floating alone to my spirit.
Distance forgives with its changing
as I pass through the tamarack
given your woman’s beautiful shape.
We begin in emptiness,
white hills and pine
cries the body of your longing.
The center is dark,
without season, the tilting moon
leaves a silver wound at the corner of my eye.
I see inside the peak of snow and bones,
barely a light in the town in the valley,
I will lie down in the quiet.
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Least Bittern Books published his second collection, Under the Mountain Born.
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