maybe I should have regretted
almost treading on your shadow;
removing one charm from the bracelet of the sun:
the one shaped like a treble clef?
the tiny piano with the hinged lid?
these were my crimes
the winds never whispered through the lilies.
the fir trees.
there was a meeting somewhere.
did I arrive too early in my apple green
confounding the centuries
and steeples with their glitter snow.
it comes down when you shake it.
I should know.
mary angela douglas 28 january 2015
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