Jon Horton
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Hearts Can Sleep

— In Memoriam —
Ford Swetnam

Crimson leaf littered
scalloped at the edges with evening ice
this black-backed silver pool
drains from the heart of the hollow hill
bathes colored stones woven
by strong spring currents

The cold and glittering
flares of Orion
find this translucent running ribbon
and brilliantly set themselves
among stones giving up their colors
to the quickly coming November night

Autumn ice

The trees along this darkening course
have hearts that go to sleep
as hearts must do from time to time

Winter is the hardest season
it comes not for good
but for good reason

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Jon Horton

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