H. Rand Swansey Poems

Fear is rain,
a promise: of no uncovered inches,
of smothered masses.
...

Steam rises through a sidewalk grill,
manifesting itself in the frigid winter air
like a
...

Feathers
the color of an azure sky,
speckles spread across her wings,
a crown atop her head,
...

combing woods on a winter afternoon

snow lies dense, bending boughs of spruce
and fir and pine
...

At first, the telltale signs were few and inconsistent-
a momentary shortness of breath; a dry, unproductive cough;
quick, stabbing pains like split-second jolts of electricity-
nothing to indicate the destruction developing inside his chest.
...

I dream of a wood
where the white birches grow,
where my steps, as I wander,
become shortened and slow;
...