To Come Home

I was breathing and it was the light, the
lightness of words, the valentines of snows
that fell all night and the moonlight, dove sent,

gathering force so quietly and it was
the dream unraveling so that only
a phrase in it was remembered into

the day, a gesture a place I'd never
seen where I was breathing anyway
as flowers breathe and as the seas

when they are restless turning from
diamond to turquoise and then the
other way. did the rainbows catch

us by surprise? arcing over the
floods that day or were we all, always
waiting, wanting all the colours, finally,

to come home

mary angela douglas 13 january 2016