cooling my pies on the windowsill of the world
I pray that the earth won't shift even in the same breath
surmising the paper dragons will arise
and we'll go through it all again.
but blow the candles out on the cake you still
imagine silver beaded all over, thick with plums,
with layers of raspberry filling, custard, stars!
or fling the sundial's shadow out into space
my optimist
far from the garden where the roses bloom too late
is the tamarind forever you counted on.
still in the desert those cooling glades appear
known to the unknown poets before you,
age upon age in the shade of God
lengthening into our days:
the emerald flutes beyond Seeming and year on year.
sweet is the mind where this can't disappear...
mary angela douglas 29 may 2013
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