looking for the things they left behind-
some emblem of the gauntlet that they ran
I cried to the angels on my either hand:
how can I - how can I ever understand
the gold embroidery on this sleeve of night,
half-finished...
and are we kneeling in the evening grass ourselves
anointed in the dew falls from far stars
whose day has passed-
and shall I rummage in old trunks found by chance
among the violet silks and stage properties-
among the last effects of the unbartered voices-
looking for the things they left behind
how I have stumbled over the amethysts
the moonstones the looking glass
they have thrown out now with the trash
not knowing what they do.
forgive us Lord we have forgotten them
cast from a singular mold-
and their bright holiday among us;
going about in the rag tag remnants, left
thinking we have the whole
mary angela douglas 5 march 2014
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