your dress with its apron of
out of the way stars
is starched with snows and
the whirling hours prolong
your dance in reindeer shoes, fur lined;
the dance of knowing not yet what to do
the robbers' daughter left behind for you:
the dance of half remembering
the one you seek.
it's far away, the lime leafed summers grieve
the little lanes, the balconies between:
and in their mirror's mirrored ponds you find
the glazing of your soul at rest
as it was then in once upon a time
before God gave you this unwieldy quest.
before you'll turn the corner of the Blessed
and find the puzzle melting- ah! its cruel surmise...
the childhood different than the rest
by virtue of the tears you've cried...
all your brave wandering into dread
awakening among the dead.
before the Things That Must Be Said
and the ice realms won...
mary angela douglas 19 july 2015 rev. 14 june 2017