Poem – The Dry River (By John Swain)

The Dry River

Red desert sky
collapsing to black
in the vast
cottonwood shadow.

Wind in the cane,
rock on rock
and a sheep horn
in the dirt.

Star on her skin
in wisdom,
the moon returns
to mountain.

Her mortal also
abandons his form
in the thorn fire
at the dry river.

Night is quiet then
as I am
inside the spine
of a pit viper.