Experts

[to Emily Dickinson]

teaching the wind to speak

they make a name: the blue jay

feather's forced to float down

clouds like jewels - the rose

to scatter petals pinkly

on the crystal pavement

credited to who knows who;

they're sure to get the world's best prize-

they mine the gold out of the sun

and they will feed

on light forever after

so it seems they have to tell

the bird on the stark unboughten bough

what singing is for-

all things arrive to their own orbit

anyway, bearing a coded music-

bending no rainbowed

showy piano strings just

to prove a point at the concert

having no need of expertise the diamond worlds move on-

mary angela douglas 18 december 2010

Shadows Of Swans, Snow Tears Magisterial

shadows of swans, snow tears magisterial

in this white valentine enfolded are

framed at the window from

which I cannot turn

there are silver apples in the air

will I ever understand

your pure spectacles so soundless

re-enactments of lost stars as they are losing

light

oh what in your mind makes it begin again...

how your heart breaks off

little pieces from a distant

sky to say something, anything

filtered through lace and lace and

mystifying - so that I cannot hear-

but only feel it-

shred your clear crystal flowers from on High

for softest reasons known only to You-

and hush the shadows of swans in me

that want to sing only the ends of the stories, oh-

there are silver apples on the air

this winter in Shalott let the wind through the

syllables of trees

stand still-

mary angela douglas 7 december, 4 december 2010