Jessamine by John Swain

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Jessamine

Bay and forest night,
head back as your mouth moves down
like the sky in decline,
we tremble.
Luminescence in the waves,
our clothes perfumed with wood smoke
from the fire I built
with red cedar.
Red wine now,
too much for words to argue
with our fear.
An owl in the trees
at the line of the beach,
man and wife
pretend a ring
for one night.
The jessamine blooms in a queen’s circle,
your fragrance
raises the moon
when I cannot dream
of return to the stone.
 


John Swain

John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Red Paint Hill published his first collection, Ring the Sycamore Sky.