Portent

in between their cake and coffee
the clatter of silverware
I heard the rising wind

leaving my invitation by the stones
by the small pebbles flung into the clouds
so this is renown I thought

this is what they die for
to be carried away by mere waves
no one saved dessert for me

coming back late from the parties
or- not at all.
I built my balconies from the tall grasses

I wept into the starlight

and watched the tide of night
that turned not again
neither was it stayed.

mary angela douglas 27 july 2015