[again, to Van Cliburn as heard in childhood]
we anchor in mist and dream we sail
but in our hearts no winds prevail.
we drift on images.
who could imagine the pause
between song and song
could alter us so.
and in the mirrors
far from grace, it shows;
still, snow from your articulate
hands on old recordings
star-like, the wounds of
earlier heartbreaks;
the quake in the sunrise-
these mark the lines of battle drawn
in the side yards
where the winds that were-
scattered the rose bush lightly,
and these petals set sail
mary angela douglas 11 august 2014
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