this is my matchstick
poem with nothing to
strike on.
my fiery dawn of no
fire.
we are born to burn up:
to live our life's fire.
but it's all green
wood here-
this is my matchstick
poem, I will try again-
in the Age of the black sun
the matchstick girl, in
the end, saw Heaven
all ablaze
mary angela douglas 15 december 1997
