beautiful trails going nowhere in the poems,
I loved: on either side clouds can drift or
leaves oh why not spiraling words like the birds of dusk
circling endlessly back to window trees?
and is it supper yet you wonder, they wonder
you're still a child they itch to say when you're
entranced before
gardenias in the glass green day
so queen of the may and destined to be-
getting lost on the beautiful trails
and reprimanded by strangers who
know your mind better than you do
oh they think they do: in winter whites not quite
ferreting out as if, they should-
your opal galaxies, your cherished delays on the dazzling
trains of gold; the fold on fold of the rose scented
why don't you get to the point they hint
all patience spent near your
beautiful trails the cul de sacs
of seeming the deep sea quays of
dreaming that brought you all
this way the sounding mists
the foam that flies before the fist
the turquoise trysts with God
even while you're at the little table
of the carefully coloured rainbow sighs
at the ebbing of all lies
beyond mere scenery
mary angela douglas 13 october 2014
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