Foreshadow From Buffalo
       

This beast begins with abundance,
a barrel-chested b, the fullness of meat
in the belly. Then there's the shudder
vowel, the rumble and grunt
from the south, the uff
that we sludge, ugh that we gruff,
the ruckus of plains in a sandstorm,
earth getting whipped
with hoof, the fricative thousands.
Nothing could ever be silent
again, not even invisible h,
a roughness in the breath, grass
hanging and dust, a halo.
Ah retreats to the hills
with l like always
but what remains is the open ring
of the lowest tone, our mouths
pulling down to our throats.
This is only, bone, ago.

Copyright © 2009 Dana Elkun All rights reserved
from Black Box Theater as Abandoned Zoo
Concrete Wolf
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission