lifted on the swallow's back
over these dreams of green
fields
it's so hard to believe you
were ever underground
holding onto a failing curtain
of light
with your small hands-
sorting muddy laundry
for the Mole.
maybe it is better to
recall that day in the
passage the swallow came
back to life and
poetry was regenerated
alongside that spring-
this could not have been imagined;
this, above all things-
was real
mary angela dougls 25 march 2006
