Sunday, January 31, 2016

John Swain- A Poem

Beneath the Snow

Thunder beneath the snow
breaks the silence of the world.
The wind impresses a sign
on each dead leaf turned white
like an ancient divination
the last man scraped on bone
to live the will of earth.

The heat of the hawk steams
in a tree
like a raging torch fire
for my darkening way.

I pressed the hollowed branch 
with a thorn to my hands,
I heard the sky open in flight
for its own protection from us,
like the birth of a foal 
I am empty as this grey field 
lying still in my throat unsung.

John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Least Bittern Books published his second collection, Under the Mountain Born.

1 comment:

  1. John Swain in a metaphoric complexity of a unique