where no fires sweep through; no sudden, no
there where all meetings are cordial
and all afternoons and one doesn't leave the party.
delayed is no music; constant is the moon
and there, is no shadow of turning.
here where the spent worlds grieve at every turn
we stop awhile in our tracks to think
that There, all sorrows end
and oh my friend so balanced on the brink,
hold lightly the thread through the labyrinth.
we will be going Then
and not - away, again-
mary angela douglas 23 july 2015 rev. 13 june 2017