The Same in All Directions
Brian Swann

The Same in All Directions

On my window sill, my grandmother’s Victorian
paperweight. Inside, one bubble poised forever at the tip

of a pansy petal. Other bubbles are galaxies peppered
here and there round her favorite flower, pansy, “thought,”

whose saffron streaks look hand-painted, floating
like a tethered astronaut in the artifice of eternity,

which I look over and past to mid-winter snow
sitting like bleakmindedness until, in a flash, light

rings, grass spurts, trout flash, and the field’s a razzle
of butterflies, sky a field of sunflowers, until stars

give off scents and the moon turns over, flips in
the lake’s shivering mirror, the same in all directions,

which I will enter quietly, steering stars aside, hang
weightless as a bubble, floating in eternity.

Brian Swann

is the author of the poetry collections Sunday Out of Nowhere: New and Selected Poems (Sheep Meadow Press), In Late Light (Johns Hopkins University Press), Sky Loom: Native American Myth, Story, Song (University of Nebraska Press), St. Francis and the Flies (winner of the Autumn House Poetry Prize), and Companion, Analogies (Sheep Meadow Press), as well as the story collections Dogs on the Roof (MadHat Press), Not the Real Marilyn Monroe (MadHat Press), and Another Log on the Fire: New and Selected Fiction (forthcoming from MadHat Press).