Rewritten

the Blackguard's phone rings on and on

into a strange infinity

but no one's there to take the call.

a Mobius sun stands still-

like the hushed instant before Fatima.

you're not that far from home anymore:

for true friends there's the

Father, Son, the Holy Ghost.

you take your basket from its peg

with its pot of honey-butter, elderberry

jam and rolls; its fine napkin

embroidered with the universe.

your rose-red cape

becomes you so.

and straight out on the

flower-strewn road, this

time-

engulfed by the waiting Shadow of the King-

the muzzled wolf's delayed-

mary angela douglas 4 june 2010