etched in the fossil of time are the tears
of those who went before on this
revolving stage-set; silver the vein
of laughter; caught, the gold of
kneeling on the childhood floor
fastened in a fleck of moonlight.
dear God. are You near?
I know you are.
because you were
on this revolving stage set
where we haunt their mirrors
and stand where others stood
the petal drifting springs;
the heavy rains at the bus-stop.
we tread on their amber shadows
on the train. in old apartments,
on cracked linoleum
or worrying about work
we stand at their windows.
even in the grocery aisle,
it's already started.
how richly the fern and the rose
have darkened, held in Your hand
while the sorrows burned.
and You preserved,
a little sentimental
this crease in, the snows.
mary angela douglas 19 february 2014
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