Tuesday, December 24, 2013


could it be made of small stars
she asked the Fashioner softly
so that nothing could catch fire
in the vicinities

or carved from ivoried snows
to be worn in extreme cold, quarried
from a warmer rose, rosepetal stictched to

an even seam
even seeming like spring
at the earliest, set off
by pale green velvets,
the mazy motion of the trees.

I am setting off she prayed
on a journey that has no end.
make it from light, my Father
or wrists of rainbows
braclets of the miraculous
spanning the unshed tears,
the underpasses

overlooking the crevasse
over which I must pass
heart-rended, even without shoes
slipping on the pearl of Your shadow...

moon painted, bright beyond wonder
so that I may not forget You

mary angela douglas 24 december 2013