Black Shawl

A Poem by John Swain

Sun and hillside become
the same drought color
in the coastal morning.
Two snakes lie entwined,
one killed the other
as I awake to my purpose.
I try to find a stream of water
like your black shawl
flowing under the railing.
When I return
from below the omens
you left the essence
of lavender and sandalwood
as we diffuse.
A bird on your tongue
flew through the center
of your skull
into a summoning eye.

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