Is It The Tower of Babel, Then, That You Are Making

is it the tower of Babel, then, that you are making
day and night night and day always the fine phrase
all the fine gloved words for you alone

your fantastical blue plume struck at an angle.
and I - I am struck too and not wonder struck
whenever I speak in clouds in mists

in the hissing of heat on the bare pavements
summers without number.
summers without number winters too

how many words you have found
for leaving when it pleases you.
and linking the fools gold to your watch fob

and watching the clock
whenever I have leftovers to say
leftovers from the ancient promises

freshet, green the words spilling out of me.
I, with no towers at all.

but only, merely: God.

mary angela douglas 3 november 2015