Rip Van Winkle Sends Regrets

[to Washington Irving]

the whole world has gone by

and can he rethread the broken threads

not knowing who cut the strings of the

rainbow flossed or bobbled the bobbin-

or ever find in amber

what could not be preserved

so much has changed.

even the leaves.

even the flowers on the hillsides

look at him strangely

and who are you

the petals sigh

and why have you returned

whisper the perinneals flaming out;

nor will they crown him purple clover chain- on-chain,

King of what he no longer surveys.

it burns in the mind

that cannot calculate

what has been lost

while dreaming underground

half-drenched in the lily snows

of a faint moon in a distant sky

of the charmed who no longer live here.

of the weddings' finery held for ransom

kettle on the hob scuttled

of the flights down the canyons, precipitous and blind of

the wingless shimmering birds of time.

mary angela douglas 4 february 2014