Summer 2001 • Vol. XXIII No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2001 |

The Flower of Tullahogue

A blend of new forest with a pure stand of high forest, the year agreed into the evening's understory of holly, from the cratered ground renamed for the month in which they captured her.   Each lighter month anchors a little more of the next; and the praying towns' triduum prayed the bullet through her heart as English followed the roads, its tidings' malady amputating the wildscape.   But some member of the lily family had worn a garment in the dancing which filled it bullet-proof— a ghost-shirt left by a god for a man, its bright English keeping the dark alive.

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