I Do Not Take It To Heart

[to the Indian poet Chumki Sharma for her beautiful poem "Running Away With The Garden"]

just for this space of, perhaps, a cloud's, hair's breadth,
filament not meant to be on fire or at the music's
rest in the score

before the tumultuous passage; it's
then sad angels retreat and draw their colours in
and the earth grows blank by God's decree

as if under snows

and the poets are even more understated than
they were before, so dormant is everything.
there in that space a small bird sings or several

in the cold and I am marveling again alone
and glad to be at the song before the sparrow freezes
and I do not care that soon the burden will be

impossible to bear and that looks are stony whenever
I start to sing because the angels lift up
on their broad wings

such infinite colours and the pearl of the sky is mine
though you would not think that
to look at her so

the old crones say and the news ones too
but I am the fairy tale (aren't you?) and I do not
take it to heart.

mary angela douglas 12 december 2015