Thursday, October 22, 2009

language, came into my roots, out of the earth. I was seed again.

Were both frost and fire, it's chords flamed
up to the crown of me.

"living a life" the poem begins
"--the beauty of deep lines
dug in your cheeks"
and ends
"you pick out
your own song from the uproar,
line by line
and at last throw back 
your head and sing it."
-Denise Levertov