Spelling The Things That Drift Away

spelling the things that drift away

I learned that the

leaves were leaving; there's

iris cold, and then,

the apricot swish of trees

disbanded in a sudden wind

and over again

is the nursery tune

with it's jack-in the box surprise

to the nerves

though it's only you

turning the crank 

of a summer afternoon

in watermelon pinks

wondering with your sister:

what will become

of our star census

from the backyard or our

tiny metal kitchenette's

red gingham curtains painted on

showcasing the window's outdoor scene?

(charm subset of The Yard

our Grandfather mows)

when we are really far from here 

and from cocoas

and the corner snows

of the showering azaleas

and Christmas lights big as tulip bulbs;

you'd be leaning on a folkloric moon
on some other stage and so would I-

that won't hold up the sky or

longing for the jeweled acoustics

of a song bright angels withheld from you;

oh it seems that way to you now

that we're etching the scratch art sky

thick with colours from

all you dreamed of  - then

watching the pastel wax dripped down

Forever and over the bottle green

so candy thick as if it were

all your birthdays at the same time,

in the pizzeria.

the sparklers, sprinklers, neon nectars fizzing out...

kaleidoscope meshing

this late in the day, they say-

the angels at rest in you-

still

mary angela douglas 4 may 2014;17 november 2014