By: John Swain

The Pavilion

The pavilion blazes white
in the sun
lined by marble waters,
purple dragonflies alley
the clear body
beneath your hibiscus robe,
we listen when we read
from the flame
draping the open trees,
the light unchanges into light,
the light transpierces light
like a waterfall of ivory
streaming through the canvas
refuge of the arch stand.

A Sky Pool

The tall glass lancets a sky pool
for our clear roof,
birds follow the pure height
you marked with sapphire
as we inspeak
the wind of your foretelling,
sun presses like grapes in our hands,
we draft and vessel light and water,
we carry a lantern of perfume.

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John Swain lives in Le Perreux-sur-Marne, France. His most recent chapbook, The Daymark, was published by the Origami Poems Project