POEM OF THE DAY
Sail These Prayers
To what land say these farewells?
Standing stones
lean this way,
that way,
sentinels to an October
of the eye
marooned
on an easter island
of withered yellow grass.
In the deep blue wink of equatorial night
the stones slouch, slack sail
becalmed in horse latitudes,
dorsals
on the sargasso-matted back of a leviathan
snoring testaments
into long slow swells
phosporescent with plankton.
Old dolmen,
cumbering a little land with memory,
stone cardinals of lost compass,
scrimshaw scratched with pelagic notations
by unknown mariners
storytelling through doldrums
To what land sail these prayers?
Dana Pattillo
PoD 102
11:02:06 PM 
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