Carving Words From This Thick Mist

carving words from this thick mist

no one will reward you.

sometimes the song

will dazzle you sometimes dissolve

even as you are singing it

sometimes you

won't distinguish your lament

from the clouds reforming

and reinhabiting without invitation

your clear castle of light while neighbors on every side

can only complain

they blame you for being the victim of miracles.

the victim of miracles.

the sound

of weeping

will echo there, your only nation,

as on the stairs, coming down after breakfast

through any window's glaze

you recognize the outline

of a desert you did not choose-

mary angela douglas 28 january 2009