Alice In A Dream Of What Was Melting, Even Then

in dreams we are never sure of the place:

it could be this or another one.

geography dissolves.

and then reappears.

there is a melting of rooms.

then, do they bloom again?

she asked herself on a sunny afternoon

on the very same river but

under a farther sun.

and the clouds float on
the surface of the bowl
and not in the puddles

and the mind is muddled
and do we drift in dreams, do we?
birthday candles in a pinafore pocket...
(just in case you know, they bring a cake-
and with glazed cherries...)

and though it glints like diamonds
the sun on the river; the heart asleep, awake?

you're still out of view in a thin sleeved dress:

though present at the pink occasion
when they tick you off the roll

and late again, for the bus ride home

mary angela douglas 2 february 2015;3 february 2015