John Swain-

Cupbearer

The cover morn 

lifts in a light

the shape of prey

afeared to sleep

through the kill.

I am learning

to only serve you

with my life

like a cupbearer

sips for poison

with a loyalty

never questioned.

Birds strayed

beyond sky gates

like the pool

of a fountain

where I drew water

for your bathing.

Heaven to the Low

A recess suggested

behind the juniper

by a friend disguised

with occasional love

we could not fully share.

I dug at the stones

worn with age

like a man

to hide disappointment

and unfreedom

in the limited way

we must converse.

Sick and weakened

I cannot draw

the same pull

from the black thread

connecting like a beacon kite

every heaven to the low.


John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. His most recent chapbook, White Vases, was published by Crisis Chronicles Press.