Rosarium On The Still Waters

I dreamed of a world rosed over

after long wars.

where there were no mere angels

foil-brilliant on the Tree.

there were diamond scars-

where mirrors fled on the wind

beside the wedding cake dolls

deprived of seeing their own

beauty infinitely.

and parti-coloured hair ribbons,

tv snacks kept coming in on

the tides. old plaid lunchboxes.

stubborn receipts.

the kind in purple ink

don't fade away

and laved-or almost loved

by the bird-seeded docks

were the little birds

turned to gold and it all

changed hands.

where are the tides bound

are there any wild tygers?

I asked in a dream voice

never speaking out loud

but the roses grew and grew

untended certainly

crowding out the office papers

venerated machines

all all the golden parachutes

and the magic fish boned stories.

and have dim waters held the

Christmas twine round the children's toys
braided the red and green yarns

as if there was cherishing-still-

without them!

a lost voice said from deeper down

no stilled waters

bursting out of old ramparts;

farther down than the carnival shorn,

beach balls transparent as

blue and green or sea glanced-

glassed, came toward me

thrown by salt water taffied no one

shell tinctured cross tinctured abalone

sunset it's just me

Candyland board piece traveling

have I arrived only to say

is this the last of the rose miracles,

Therese, or to her pink candles.

everything had become

roselands, rose debris

even old shipwrecks

even your words to me

the serrated ones

had become like old coral

petaled endlessly

small fishes swam though

that space where the heart should be

on the antique charts

crossed off in Sheaffer's ink on a Saturday

dispensing with the aquarium's castle

the parakeet's beaded mirror

the lake poets sing-songing

nothing-nothing further now from the violet ridden woods;

entangled with maiden hair

sea spangled undine.

I can't stand all of this vanishing.

then by the Northern Harbor

where the Paraclete burns

never burning down the borealis oh

never the Little Mermaid stood

wistful, where saints never drowned

even though, it seemed they could-

was I gliding to vaster Kingdoms

alone in my blue-green God?

how can I cast my rose wreath for you on the waters

when I know you won't believe

I heard deep weeping 

all the way from Caledonia

and it's little else I know now

asleep or awake but this water-coloured seaming

believing it for believing's sake.

or you may tear the many opaled coat

I wear from shred to shred

as you did, once pale

moonset to moonset;

line by line.

I promise you

unbidden by anyone-

He said-

with a beautiful grief I almost understood-

or thought I did, it being the dream language, spoken;

a voice, Most Finely embroidered

canceling the snows that would have covered it all forever

in the beginning there were roses...

mary angela douglas 11 may 2014