Leaves

it's just the nebulae sifting through your dreams

because you left the window open.

you left the window open and the moon came in,

and ivoried rains, glistening

dampening the books on the window sill

you put there because you have no more

room for books, but buy them anyway

to read the words of your friends.

to read the words of your friends and

to talk to God is all you want to do.

and listen where

no soldiers are coming.

no armies.

only a pale green stillness

rustles like leaves above you:

that's your dream

and the nebulae, too. 

the leaves you loved before you

learned the soft word: "leaves"

are there, and you're so happy

to see them again

even though it's just a dream

and time is leaving you everyday

a little closer to the beginning

and isn't this a reason for happiness?

mary angela douglas 27 july 2014