John Swain Louisville, KY


Muscatatuck River

A circle of hawks with claws locked spiral
blinding the trail of sky and meadow with a gold sun.
Gnawing through bark, I freed my arms
to follow a blacksnake upward through the branches
and into the air dripping with light.
Below in the river, the muskrat gathered earth
to become the gentle mother of the world.
Sentience, our garment, the mind voices a deeper mind
like the song of the waters.
The sun moves from the sign of the ram to the bull
as the dead are released from their linen
with the strength a simple grass leaf emerges
through the opening ground.
And when I went back to the trees,
the forest moved in my body returning to wind.

John Swain is a poet in Louisville, KY. Read other recent poems of his here and right here. Red Paint Hill published his first collection, Ring the Sycamore Sky.


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