Lives Of The Saints On A Rusty Hinge I Dreamed

lives of the saints on a rusty hinge I dreamed
the Door having been flung open in the winds
and the liveried voice floated over heavy as lead

why should the visions come to you instead

of one appointed by the Lord
and this was the inciting Word
that drew down flames upon their heads

and sealed their doom.
oh lily bright and in the tomb before being, breathing,
spoken into the gold and blue

of our Lady shimmering over the fields
how I mourned for you the day I realized
for you, there could be no escape

because the dream itself dared itself
to bypass those, the keepers of the keys imposing
their wills even upon God

to linger stubbornly, with no retreat
and showering roses down
upon the most obscure

the most unlikely to succeed
in town.

mary angela douglas 16 march 2016