Middle Creek | John Swain

Tree line open to sky, treed ravine,
sun in my lungs, hawk claw on rock,
orchids, the poison mountain laurel.

Maidenhair fern, fossils in the wall
along the maidenhair water, black bear
mother and cub forage, paw stomp,
her groan growl sound heart sound.

My staff, tree branch, balsam scent,
she balsam, cold mountain upward,
void and river, a beautiful daughter.