I Dreamed A Dark Green Pilgrimage

I dreamed a dark green pilgrimage

unfolding on newsreels lit by a midnight

sun or catholic candles blooming

sunbursts on film the candles wavering

yet not, the saints. the shattering of pale roses

down, adown I cried: whither, these miracles unending?

none answered me. not one.

I, a mere witness to the spectacles of healing

cloistered beyond the front row seats

beyond the balconies even.

I'm in the front lobby or on some street wept my soul

I cannot recognize where no bus runs or cab is called

and I seem to hear singing

but it was my own voice streaming into

a strange music like a crystal cup

where sometimes an indifferent coinage

dropped and this was dissonance I said

going on with the music anyway

beyond the fol de rol, the jesters sheening the tickets

bought and paid for by the jeweled attendees

I worked at times for

if at all until they decreed, no more.

but I footsore and memeless, even so

I caught the meaning of something behind the news

that the sun dissolved or everything I knew oh

Jesus of Nazareth

my castaway's candle,

brilliant stub oh
quench the floods the rise and the fall of

the faux events. the heart stripped of all sense

like a bird with no ark I strain against the tides

and dream of waking on the other side.

expensive moments past.

mary angela douglas 1 april 2015