Andrew, try this link, right here at the Sphere, where Mike Juster posted in 2002, which is the year Story Line published Wil's book Light For the Orphans, the winner of their Nicholas Roerich First Book Prize.
http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/showthread.php?t=346
I believe the book is out of print, but there was news of Story Line's revival at the West Chester conference this year, and with it, the re-printing of the Rebel Angels anthology. Perhaps Story Line will also bring back Wil's book.
Wil and I met that same year, 2002, in Beaumont, Texas when he read at Lamar University. As I recall, once the reading was over, I stood around talking with Sam Gwynn till he could introduce us, and all of Wil's copies sold. It must have been that Wil ended up selling me and inscribing the copy he had used for the reading, or Sam proffered his. In addition to Wil's inscription, a number of pages have notes on them -- certain words underlined, cryptic questions. While most of my poetry books are kept downstairs grouped together in the drawing room, for nearly ten years, this one has held a spot of honor in my own room upstairs, on a high shelf.
Here is another poem from Light For the Orphans, one of my favorites. Thanks for the First Things poem, Paul.
A Christmas Card
by Wilmer Mills
(Story Line Press, 2002)
Another building in the snow,
Not mine, but much the same. I thought
You'd like the scene.
It snowed all day
And sifted thickly down despite
Sunlight that broke for moments, catching
The frozen motes in disarray.
My town's electric ornaments
Announce the season, green and red,
Storefronts in frost and sidewalks tight
With ice like scenes on tacky prints
To signal Christmas time.
I've said
My prayers for the road, and heading home,
I know that close to Baton Rouge
I'll pass the oil refineries
And see their miles of lighted chrome,
So hideous, beautiful and huge.
I'll pass the city factories
And all their man-made constellations,
Lantern mantles, year-round bulbs,
Like stars to bring a prince or plowman
Back to the birthing place.
It cramps
The heart, like a joke that Paw Paw tells
Until he cries, all part of the plan,
Ecstatic sadness, dirge and song.
They draw me back. I won't be long.