[for Virginia Woolf]
I am no longer I she cried
in the pier glass of waters far from home
closer in time is farther back much earlier she sighed
to the larkspur shadows in the room
that held her like a necessary angel
in his gaze or repartee
glancing up from his reading perhaps
a little quizzical thinking
why is it every time she enters the room
like a particular shade of blue the rarest
flower shade so hard to find
but there it is, the tuning, turning of her mind
a larkspur presence in a room less vivid
did he find her thus
almost the colour of skies
and chained to earth
diffident, larklike closer in time to him than others
she strayed on earth
despite the broken engagement
language is faltering she cried
and spoke to him from ancient tapestries
unraveling
I am no longer I she said
to the larkspur purling waters
when I arise from dreams of thee
from dreams of thee
no longer among the living
mary angela douglas 12 january 2014
