Monday, June 7

walking at night

I open the top
of my door & stand
in the dark
blue rush of air.
Hold my breath
to know what breathing is.
Air will move through me
as it moves through the trees.
I push open the bottom.
The path has not yet
been mined in the melt.
There is time.
In the hemlocks I can still
hear the silence owls
made, though the stream
clashes about. I am
walking. Snow reflects
blank sky. I feel my eyes wide
as shoulders. Now I am young.

-- Brian Swann