Beautiful Reader

beautiful reader taking on the snow colours where
you walk, the variations in the pearl;
apprehending unheard music

in a hushed world still.
beautiful reader of the pines the guardian streams
half cracked with ice, the glaze on the

words you used to say and then the page
is turned for you by someone else
who knows better who you are they dream

at the agencies, or at the church bazaars
the jazzy intake sessions,
if they dream at all.

who could imagine you held all this within you
world upon world and as you read

it all comes back to you or opens up anew from
a different chapter. long will the gold in the leaf
you pluck in the dim air stay

when used to mark the passages
you loved to play on an old piano
though no one suspects you of such depths

on any day job you may take, bus stop round
that you may make or where you stray
on the sun ridden lot behind the housing projects.

mary angela douglas 12 december 2015