Through Blue Indiangrass
by John Swain
Dawn wavers through blue indiangrass
like an ivory comb
to groom the horse
while sun fire illumines either horizon
like I clawed from out your eyes.
Light does not recognize my patience,
waiting to live inside myself
as water returns to its source of mirrors,
I continue alone, leaving
the gilt tree shade turned like a woman.
I have excised my arms from purpose,
provisions were made before I knew
that you were already a house,
remnants are now a mountain behind.