oh save us from the tin glare of the sky;
the vessels in distress flailing on pink sands;
the gaily wrapped catastrophes;
the heart that withers, turning aside,
from the glass-like smiles again.
oh lead us out another way from the gold mined mirage
mined to the last;
from the blizzard of lies; the floes that wrecked
just floating past
so bright, bedecked, the boat of my life.
avert these sorrows and the piercing of them-
beyond the clock-work sands sifting
into the blue green visions of the night
when we watched for Your hand. then-
I will not cry aloud though myriads depose
wither and command
the heart in its blossoming
that cannot understand
that never understands
the carefully wounding mind in time-
mary angela douglas 15 october 2013;revised 18 october 2013;24 november 2014
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