Saturday, July 3, 2010

Place of the Wild Apricot Vine

by John Swain

Mountainside like the shoulder
of a warrior
whose wound was
draped in mosses and ferneries.
In an opening of stone
I looked for wild apricot vines
beside the place
where three streams met and fell
into an opal pool.
My horse lowered
his muscled neck to drink water,
I felt rejuvenation
astride this wild throne.
In the distance
blue summits carry
the names of all who passed here.

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