Invisible Piano

sweeping the floor at evening
Time stands still;
the grass grows starry

and the whippoorwills
my Grandfather used
to call in the yard

waiting for meteors.
if Time were a loaf
I would slice it still

the way he did
smeared gloriously with the butter
and the jam

we thought so enchanted then.
now all saturdays run together
watercoloured, down the drains

of what remains
and I practice my
Invisible piano.

mary angela douglas 27 december 2015