it's the dark geranium skies that make me weep
at least I tell myself that's true in a dream landscape
I'm unsettled
why aren't you?
or can't you find the vu-finder on the stereoscopic snows
the Christmas swaying through the ice storms where the angels chime
and round about the candles fly their semi-golden imitators or
I'm on the carousel of sighs and dropped the key you gave me
long ago and don't know where to live.
and yet, they let me through the gate assuming it can all be sorted out as if I were laundry,
later; when would that ever happen in a dream
mary angela douglas 13 july 2014
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