Hollow Bay Fog 
Eagle trees appear at dawn 
as shadows crack the porcelain fog 
between the winter lakes. 
Majesty is fragile 
as the sliver moon remains a whisper 
to guide in the morning sky. 
I waded through the stake beds 
in the hollow bay 
while sunrise rippled the blue layers 
of endless air and water. 
Coyotes sing on another shore 
in a distant bliss 
leaving their sound like a wild mask 
I wear for my renaming. 
And then the merciful quiet 
after the wailing for all we are, 
this place of loving is restless, 
I salve my feet with pine. 
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky, USA. Red Paint Hill published his first collection, Ring the Sycamore Sky. 
 
first and last lines tie it together - trees and pine. Love the last line. Maureen
ReplyDeleteThank you for your thoughts, Maureen.
DeleteThank you for sharing your well written poem that I really enjoyed John. I appreciate your talent.
ReplyDeleteCharlene
Thank you very much for your kind words, Charlene.
DeleteHello. Agree with Maureen. The last line is the one you walk away with! Enjoyed. Best wishes Ralph.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Ralph. Much appreciated.
DeleteReally enjoyed the spiritual & reflective mood of this John..'
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Joe.
DeleteHi John. I like your poem. It's a witty, sentimental one. Thank you for sharing and continued blessings!
ReplyDelete-MJ (www.tgbtgpublictions.com)
Thank you, Maurice.
DeleteGentle, smooth and spiritually uplifting. I can smell the scent of pine as I read you...Rhoda
ReplyDeleteThank you for your kind thoughts, Rhoda.
DeleteHi John...You've painted a lovely picture with words. Enjoyed reading your poem. Thank you! ~Chris
ReplyDeleteThank you very much, Christine.
ReplyDelete