[to poetry, itself]
out of a golden nutshell or a sigh
I whispered to the wind, let it begin.
the moon spilled ivory into my dream
and even the shadows were green.
and I believed in You so much,
how could I understand the outer languages
or why anyone would speak in them at all?
I saw I was here in the hereafter
already looking back on them.
and that was so long ago.
before School.
mary angela douglas 28 june 2013
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