Angelicum Oda


After the storm march, to seek the aimless
Rubble of our house. Beaneath filth and boulder,
Parts keep, days revealing each to wonder
Of our probing hands. What wistful names possess
These items-wood, lock, familiar foyer

Of home, door? Softly, we pronounce them, seizing
Memory before word, told once when like warriors
We brawled against flood and tempests; time packing

[Report Error]