I feel my soul returning
to a shimmering state
golden threads are in the
air:
they can be gathered
in a chapel of snow invisibly
you watch with Quixote
through the long night
enacting the fables
ridiculed on the news:
waiting to find again
under an unmisted sky:
the jeweled windmills
turning
under the jeweler's light
mary angela douglas 28 august 2005/rev. 31 july 2007
