Is It A Clouded Beauty

is it a clouded beauty

that floats in the blue marbles;

the soul of a paler blue?

the suspended lilies in the

paper weights,

sigh the executors of lost arts.

caught in the amber, the butterfly wings

with the golden spots remain but not

the child's enchantment on a summer day;

the feeling of the eternities

blown about like kites, tossed colorforms,

the starry nights outside, in the backyard-

there, where the dolls cannot go;

or marionettes attached to their drums-

-all on their own-

unless you carry them a sweet voice cried

like a tinkling fountain

half-way broken down near the village of Stare.

and why their arms are still

outstretched, by the nightlights,

where we left them-

mary angela douglas 15 june 2014