Sunday, April 7, 2013

Two Poems by John Swain

Cavern Saint of Wild Beasts

After all the pathways of air
lain on land and sea and bird,
I curled to the worst
becoming one with every sin
and hurt.
The rain came
apart like a speechless child,
I ran beaten strangled and born
through the molten trees
before two candles burnt down
against my throat
and raised a choking fishbone.
Who was me must now forget
the love and wanting
in a green night bowl of stone
where your eyes were owl,
I learned not to wait for God
in our seeing, touch to listen.

Day of the winds
avalanche of leaves,
the juniper singing
with red blackbirds
telling the spring.
I closed the door
and walked the creek
following green steps
freeing the land
to choose movement.
Sun cast my shadow
beside and forward,
almost a friend
like we had joined
in another lifetime.
Buried you said
love could only live
in never owning
all that was given
from source to end.
The broken stones
poured down water
for light’s mirror,
we changed there
paled until always.
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Crisis Chronicles Press published his most recent chapbook, White Vases.

1 comment:

  1. John,

    It's great to read another pair of poems from you. This line is fab, "where your eyes were owl". The imagery and use of language in both poems is uniquely yours.