On A Childhood

grass green were the words

you left behind;

the blue silk purling of the skies.

small pink flowers in the grass

how I loved you then

and now

when the pure pink dahlia

of the sun

is blossoming, still-

how I think of you, again.

when will it be time to find

the wayward homeward stars,

no rhinestones of the inevitable-

(soft syllables brushed with hidden snows);

the Easter iris shadows

of Before-

above the earth, so tumult-driven,

blind-

I still can see

clouds with their own angels

in the tree-tops...

mary angela douglas 5 march 2012