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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
YEAR, by MILO DE ANGELIS
First Line: Digging / toward a lenten extreme
First Line: Digging / toward a lenten extreme
Digging
toward a Lenten extreme
I was pushed
by the seed. Noon
overturned in its order.
Instinctively pure, every time, was
the hand stopped logically
between the snares
of that age and my mother's pain
I wasn't there, I didn't choose. The intercom issues
mental color
where the man is naked.
That drop
seen in three shares
became the only terrified substance, a
centuries-old ardor...
every pine tree...every pine...stop,
you are amid yourself.
Wheels withdrawing slowly
from the ice, a door's humility.
Used by permission of Story Line Press.
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