POEM OF THE DAY
Magnificat
A shadow
in the loom of her presence
this ghost rejoices
that she holds me
in her regard,
takes my rough hand
and tells its whorls
down to the last generation.
My soul proclaims
her mercy, my spirit is proud
to be broken
and scattered in the imagination
of hungry hearts. Holy
is her unspeakable name.
Saints fed on prayers
have starved in unsaying it.
Gods have died
in the hearts of the faithful,
the rich in spirit cast out
of their conceits,
dead in their reckonings.
Those who call themselves blessed
in the sight,
Those who magnify themselves
in the fear,
those who bow down to thrones,
who wreck the rod,
who glorify the strong arm,
who fail of every promise they keep,
even them who call her him,
hymn to her.
Holy, holy, holy,
is her unspeakable name,
unbroken is her necessity,
all her promises kept,
all her dread mercies
rehearsed in our dreams
all the nights
of all our days, forever and amen.
Dana Pattillo, 2007
PoD 121
8:19:32 PM 
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