ABOVE THE ORATORY
The wheatfields lean like a sundial over the river,
sun bronzes the walking staff rafted at my shoulder,
the wind flowers flax for your dress in the sun.
Glimpsing the jasper hill, we contemplate a palace
beyond ascent,
the roof lanterns above the oratory dome,
we burn thoughts like myrrh, the fragrant smoke horses,
the sky sings to the earth with the meadowlark.
I recite the codex pouring from your mirrored eye-stone,
we read the light in silence awed by the light you table.
John Swain lives in Le Perreux-sur-Marne, France. His most recent chapbook, The Daymark, was published by the Origami Poems Project.
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