[for Gabrielle-Suzanne de Villeneuve and
Jean-Marie Leprince de Beaumont in gratitude
for a deeply beautiful fairy tale, much misunderstood-except by Cocteau!]
her rubied candlewicks can't burn down
or cause alarms to sound.
rose perfect are the flowers on her dresser
with the matching dresser set done
all in pearl. she lives in opalescence.
quietness.
her books in sunrise colours
sing of Eden, childhood confections
happily recalled and when she
turns, the wall, revolving, shows
the paintings from the Louvre
in their primordial state:
bright hued as future Daylight
may anoint her cherishing
painters-to-come.
sleep is pillowed by the dream of home
more real than when she was there
and here's a winding stair
that leads to God, sheer banisters of light;
small birds in the music of pure
flight; unending consolations...
mary angela douglas 29 september 2014
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