[to Sara Teasdale]
this word flows away like music
this word flows away
into a farther heaven of
whiteness
snow like a trackless
deeper silence this
bird flies away
this leaf drifts away like
music this leaf
drifts away
under a brand, a singing
rapture, singed by no questions
half-unanswered
this wind melts away
into a greeness never
visioned, into no one's
wilderness
into no one's least revision
and no ocean's bay-
mary angela douglas 25 april 2004
