by John Swain
Cloud shade hastens evening
upon the overgrowth
where black vultures gather
around the shored garfish.
I am renewed in a blue cloth
like a sheet holding grapes,
the river wears no stain
although I asked
what have you shared.
Rain floods this place of passing,
I taste two fingers of water
and forget
the bones resting in my flesh
held gently as branches.
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John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. He has previously contributed to Willows Wept Review, and his fourth chapbook, Burnt Palmistry, is forthcoming from Full of Crow. |
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 