Little Knowing

beyond it now with the serial numbers of the stars o
I wish we had not tagged everything
and put the spectrums in jars

at school.

maybe the clouds can escape the census,
so I went to warn them.
but they in their fleeciness rose

and gold in the cold outside a
childhood hom: frozen as
they were, fluffed up and chimed

and floated airily away.
never mind, laughed I now that
you have it well in hand in

fleecy land I'll leave you there.
and then I climbed a wandering stair
little knowing that I wouldn't be back

again to catch them ever again
in their summer gladness.

mary angela douglas 15 january 2016