The Garden Of Statues

here in the garden of statues
one keeps watch not speaking
until spoken to.

the roses heavy with dew
could weep if they knew;
whatever it is in roses knows

here nothing moves but the wind
and the roses; all else is suspended
under the moon

and we keep still my soul or I
and gather witnesses
from antique imagination

of the way things should have been
when life meant being alive.
but here the poses never end;

the statuary blindness.
let blind snows begin to
cover it all!

by the roses this I heard
the vivid angels; Word; archangels
Speak and breaking it all apart

at slight command
and would the human heart
if there were one here left to break.

others will come much later to the scene
bringing back souvenirs
from the ruins.

mary angela douglas 1 january 2016