My Wildflower Poems, Are You Weeping A Skylit Blue?

[in the sincere hope of The Resurrection for all our poems and works of art (as for ourselves)]

my wildflower poems, are you weeping a skylit blue?

or are your windy petals strewn

only as mauve

as your own particular sunset

anyone walking there could crush

without thinking of it, really;

in the fields, far from the main roads

where the golden coaches pass.

or are you made of glass

and do you make little rainbows on the wall or on

the curtains when I close them?

o may you never live long enough

in the apples to oranges world

to be severely compared where the griefs are.

will you close at last and turn into the soil

you came from?

daisy centered, yellow as bumblebees, fuzzed-

or furled like roses, one by one:

curled with the elder ferns,

composing a single perfume

so beautiful, after long rains have come.

and after a while, not knowing enough

to be fearing

will you bow your heads as if to say

through His disarming snows, 

it's lovely, this way of disappearing

mary angela douglas 10 september 2014