POEM OF THE DAY
The Long and True Music of Her Name
Like a giant lying down,
the long hill gives the river
its shadow at sunset.
I cast my low voice like that shadow
over the long and true music
of her name.
Lush as blue velvet,
delicate as a border of white lace,
cold as a rime of frost
on a late blooming flower,
exposed as floodlit no man’s land,
high voltage like an electrified perimeter fence,
I sing-song to myself
each vowel and consonant
like a child learning the alphabet.
I break open syllables like the rock
to which the convict gave
the full swing of his grace.
The sledge gives back the crack.
The shotgun takes back the shot.
The whip erases the welt.
The quarry gives back all the echoes.
Dust tumbling on shocked air
blinking like little novas
through the last slant of sunlight
does not lose its savor
does not cease to speak and spell
on the convolute stone
the ogam of her immemorial name.
Dana Pattillo
PoD 115
12:15:15 AM 
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