The Breaks<\/strong><\/p>\n

Snow echoed on the shelter
\nwith breath wet on the red bag
\nwe slept inside
\nas a white forest grew from the night.
\nGrey smoke arose against a hill in fog,
\nthe winds revealed a canyon of stone
\nand shining gold leaves
\nin the ravines
\nnarrowing for the bear dweller.
\nQuartz broke where the river turned
\nbelow another mountain born
\nfrom the eyelids
\nI painted with the dark bloom
\nof yellow witch hazel and blue tar.
\nThe spinning cliffs stilled
\nabove the sound of water on rock
\nto imprint this abyss
\non my throat like a brave song.<\/p>\n

~ John Swain<\/p>\n