Spring 1986 • Vol. VIII No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1986 |

Märchen

I trace the mare's tail that could swishstars from her back. Her nostrils couldtake in the world. Above a frieze of jade treesthe moon, red with insect blood, rocksa slow crescent. Slowly she pares down in skygritty with comets & fireflies. And one nightshe bursts, a great purple anemone stainingthe grass. Honeysuckle climbs back up into her,Rapunzel, whose hair she is, or Jack whose beanstalkis her. Then mounted on the mare who is hers also,all climb back. The door shuts. Earth shivers with absence.Till lunar skin splits & the year's first fruitsturn edgewise to fullness. Children float zig-zag down, lunar moths unmooring the air, earthturning plangent with spring-peepers.This is the story, till now.

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Brian Swann has published a number of books in a number of genres. His forthcoming book, Born in the Blood: On Translating Native American Literature, is forthcoming from University of Nebraska Press (2011).

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Carthage

By Brian Swann

I trace the mare's tail that could swishstars from her back. Her nostrils couldtake in the world. Above a frieze of jade treesthe moon, red with insect blood, rocksa slow […]

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By Brian Swann

I trace the mare's tail that could swishstars from her back. Her nostrils couldtake in the world. Above a frieze of jade treesthe moon, red with insect blood, rocksa slow […]

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