To The Shimmering On The Clockcase Read By Moonlight

the shimmering on the clockcase read by moonlight shines

in a light apart, inlaid, divine, pastel impearled the little
birds, carved flowers, suns and moons together
in the ekies that won't

ever set and this is in the play house I imagine
at this late hour

set carefully and made to last by the cherry wood banister

of a staircase to the Far Kingdoms

where angels sail on pale pink tissue clouds and that's only

tne first act of the play.

the tea table's finely set, the china sprinkled with flowers

with pastel cakes to match and thickly frosted, too.

and in another room, larger than Space itself the book lined

majesties, the vellum fine, fine leathers, rainbow hued,

with moire end papers as in the famous advertisements

you could only afford to read and in the closet
of your favorite doll, brand new, the

handmade Diors stitched tinily iridescent
bead on bead on rare chiffons

in rose garden shades.

you don't dream small said a little sister drily
before she knew what drily meant

then ate up all the sherbet mints for the wedding party

merrily dressed in her Christmas

velvet: candy apple red

(and her crystalline pumps, she added)
while we sat in our pale blue room
on after school afternoons murmuring "roseate", "roseate"
our favorite word of the day that

still bears repeating...

mary angela douglas 1 january 2015