Santiago

caught in the downdraft of scurilous words
could I walk on my knees to Santiago?
would candles come out to meet me

Mary, in her mantle of sobs
I stood on no ground
no hope of going over

in the little boat moored.
moored forever I must be on this shore
I wept to the skies

to the skies over Santiago
to the endless shrines
to the candles never going out

in the long rains

mary angela douglas 18 january 2016