The Ghost Lions Prowl by John Swain

Lion twilight of the desert mountain,
I cleaned my knife on a distant pinnacle
leaving all of the edges in red.
Intensity of distance,
the bones of a condor rest in a rock chimney
overlooking the thorn flat.
The black ground moved in waves
at the fist of the gale wind traveling,
I felt the world breathe through my breath
like a pouring clay vessel.
The silence of the ghost lions prowl
for jackrabbit and deer,
we each join the void as a martyr.
The sky begins to ache raven dark
carrying the stars,
I would disappear with this silver wife.
Advertisements

4 thoughts on “The Ghost Lions Prowl by John Swain

Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: