{"id":1712,"date":"2012-07-18T22:33:47","date_gmt":"2012-07-18T22:33:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1712"},"modified":"2012-07-19T02:44:31","modified_gmt":"2012-07-19T02:44:31","slug":"john-swain-712","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/john-swain-712\/","title":{"rendered":"John Swain, 7\/12"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
Birch Fire<\/strong><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
Terrible the red<\/div>\n
closing of birch<\/div>\n
all around<\/div>\n
deer paths sunk<\/div>\n
and crossed<\/div>\n
into nothing.<\/div>\n
I lit the skin<\/div>\n
with brightening<\/div>\n
noon sun<\/div>\n
like a third day<\/div>\n
of mercies<\/div>\n
on the land.<\/div>\n
I prayed<\/div>\n
awake in sleep<\/div>\n
for the return<\/div>\n
of the person<\/div>\n
like a bright bird<\/div>\n
inside the skull.<\/div>\n
An imperiled cry<\/div>\n
arose from the salt<\/div>\n
as the trees grew<\/div>\n
into lapis.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n
Dune Lavender Clematis<\/strong><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
Sunset on dune lavender clematis<\/div>\n
though oats stayed gold for the crow<\/div>\n
and the people refusing to speak<\/div>\n
upon greeting,<\/div>\n
I hated their faces in my weakness.<\/div>\n
Water dripping<\/div>\n
from the balcony stained the page<\/div>\n
torn from an antique history book<\/div>\n
I found earlier on the sand.<\/div>\n
I traced the image of the terebinth<\/div>\n
on my palms pressing the weather<\/div>\n
for a hidden burial.<\/div>\n
Dark ink blurred like another night<\/div>\n
when I went outside<\/div>\n
to the eyeless sea reading psalters,<\/div>\n
I archived the bruit of the shallow.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/em><\/div>\n
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Full of Crow published his chapbooks,\u00a0Burnt Palmistry\u00a0and\u00a0The Feathered Masks.<\/em><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Birch Fire … … Terrible the red closing of birch all around deer paths sunk and crossed into nothing. I lit the skin with brightening noon sun like a third day of mercies on the land. I prayed awake in sleep for the return of the person like a bright bird inside the skull. An […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1712","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nJohn Swain, 7\/12 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/john-swain-712\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"John Swain, 7\/12 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Birch Fire … … Terrible the red closing of birch all around deer paths sunk and crossed into nothing. I lit the skin with brightening noon sun like a third day of mercies on the land. I prayed awake in sleep for the return of the person like a bright bird inside the skull. 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I lit the skin with brightening noon sun like a third day of mercies on the land. I prayed awake in sleep for the return of the person like a bright bird inside the skull. 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