On the Mountain
Gorge and the black coal,
the natural bridge,
the scarecrows and the goats foretold
the dark at my shoulder.
Black bear on the mountain,
acorns and rhododendron,
the moon let down the running creek
to fill my dented cup.
The midnight stares
from her feral gnawing arms,
a hollow log , abyss, the thorn
I embrace at her wide belly.
Owl eye and the cold stars glow
where the rushing water turned to stone,
motionless to be unnoticed
my haunted love has gone.
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Least Bittern Books published his second collection, Under the Mountain Born.
