I See Hawthorne's Scar

I see Hawthorne's scar in the winter sky:
the cloud gashed light
and we will gather this harvest in

my soul and I yet, if God wills.
the scar will blend into a Night
that cannot vary and where

the summer birds unwarily take flight
too late descending toward the flowery clime.
these portents driven in the sound,

along the strange and rocky coves
of what has been, pale wreckage! floating
off the Main; Heart-bound, not Land! and

scavengers will come who'll never understand
a century too late and remonstrate
and strive so each with each

to claim a dread treasure.

but we know it does not avail
who wait upon the stare of old ghosts;
that where the stars set, chill

refractions lash unceasingly
the haunted prayerless mind-
and pilgrim blanched,

the sun oh cannot
cannot find us
where we ignore

Divine glory-
and take the mantle on ourselves.

mary angela douglas 12 december 2015