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.