Friday, March 04, 2016


in the opal underground
of the next to the last word
I felt that birds through the pearl skies

skirted the edge of the painting.
and this was resembling what was
what folds into evening

behind the trees
what some have called the moon.
but they have called the tune too long

I said in my distress
and the milky colours weep
their rainbows out

the clouds hapless to defend
oh don't you remember the green winds
were for you

and came every day
at the beginning?

mary angela douglas 4 march 2016