Monday, February 04, 2013

Della Robbia And Other Things

to a dry fountain

small birds came to drink
when holes were punched in a daylight sky
and the blue of old plaster flew as if it were the wind.

and an eggshell quiet shattered in a dream
of the whispered sonnets


freezing through the trees


and I said only, I do not lie
to the dry fountain where the small birds came to drink

in the Park you may remember or not at all.


and a small twig breaks that was already broken
and nothing scurries through the last leaves on the ground

where small birds shiver near a glazed stream

or lodge in the holes punched in the sky


and sing through the end of the punches thrown
in delicate aqua or marine

where an eggshell quiet shattered in a dream

of the whispered sonnets freezing through the trees

and the ghost of Mary Stuart counting all her beads


deliver my blue soul from the cracked marble of the world

mary angela douglas 31 january 2013