Monday, February 02, 2015

She Dreams Of His Death

[to Fanny Brawne and to John Keats...]

it's in the garden or it's in my heart,

his nightingale singing in the mulberry tree;
the orchards beyond remembrance now.

the universe was rich with petals;
the heart is filled with snows.
it's in the garden or its in my heart.

am I the one that knows?
am I the one with the lifted lamp
using light like a knife?

the uncrowned Queen of all this vanishing.
I vanish too but they won't hold me guiltless.
it's in the garden or it's in my heart

my love my love my love

mary angela douglas 2 february 2015