Monday, January 19, 2009

Michelle Angelini


She sees its mini-world
with disinterest
as beauty
between poles of pain

Birds float in its life-blood
and trees drink
springing from
its flowing streams

Veins rise and fall
and depend on
earth's weeping

It calls each night in her dreams
she does not answer
but identifies
with its slow death

She wishes it to flow
as a vigorous ecosystem
fed nothing to clog the arteries
respected by those who use it

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