The Baby Mobile As Impossibly The Pattern Of The Heavens

a simple solar system over the baby cradle swung

and flecked with laughter, glinting in the blue

of no clouds ever, diffused a prismed light on

Sundays in the afternoons and on the lemon floor. 

the simple solar system, sung in many colours, hummed-

all night and the moon looked through a little envious;

said the moon in golden letters, "soon, what wanders here is the high celestial

brought to earth you dreaming child,

making up your earliest remembrances."

here, (they may remember later on) slept a child of music-

as if on rose leaves, as a rose may and

batting the simple solar system

with a sigh, a sigh of the barely beginning ruffling

the leaves of the beginning of the angels and

before the abc's.

mary angela douglas 11 april 2014