The Word Poetry Does Not Exist

the word poetry does not exist
it is a flame
or it is nothing

it is the flare that illumines
the disaster
the white stone path home

it is the moon that vast ship sailing
through indeterminate clouds
it is not really outloud outloud

but charged within
it is the lightening outside the enterprise
it is the colour green zigzaging through

the devastations
it is apart and yet-
it is my heart it is my heart it is my heart

mary angela douglas 9 february 2016