The Rain Bridge

Underneath the rain bridge,
you mimic the river in perfume,
glass lamps after glass lamps
illumine your forehead
with a mark of clear water.

The rain drapes fragrant sheets
we garment in the water of your hands,
we vigil for the pure light
as you willow the river
and incense the lip of a jar.

We drink from the stream
beside the grass path
where the sky powders wild violets,
the sky floats on a stone flame.

The Rose Sphere

Blood flower, fire flowers set the moon on escutcheon,
you walk on embroideries, the sky a tapestry falcon,
the cup of your breast spills from a river red tunic.

We drink the wine from your side,
glow horses and run as the rose sphere jewels the night air,
persimmons drip like your necklace from a wet branch.

The Moon Vine

A river of light sparks in the night trees,
the sky willows bend anemone,
our hands blur at the surface of water.

You rain in ink to purify the lanterns,
cup to cup we wash exalted,
the sky lights clean through a bracelet of trees,
you sever pomegranates from the moon vine.

John Swain lives in Le Perreux-sur-Marne, France, and has published two collections of poetry, Ring the Sycamore Sky, and Under the Mountain Born.  His chapbook, The Daymark, was recently published by the Origami Poems Project.