"And was not saved. memory"
by Estill Pollock

And was not saved, memory
Alone remaining, the clearing where the felling ends
Still, the weight too little, birdlike
Against the priestly resignations

A few words, the last leaves of them settled
Now, a name spoken firstly
Before satellites orbited through our rooms
Or atom-tipped rocketry bled through our dreams

Then this, the voice fading as the grain fades
Patternless along sawn, sweet pine, its length
Set to this day, and this hour

Here is my memory of it, her bones thin, through burning
Fountains and water shaped to mark her voice
A lightness

Clouds, making and unmaking

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