Monday, March 07, 2016

The White Lane

I saw in a vision of sifting snows
the white lane leading unto Light
and I in the thick of it

wordless, without song.
and then the luminous upswing
of the fated birds breaking into

singing, Song after long wars,
the scars, diminishing.
how long I stood

and the dream all drifted down
as though in a globe of snow
I had found my calling.

how can I tell you
who may not want to know 
that the hour of the white lane had

come upon me, God's hands
being overfilled with blossoming.
and I, no longer afraid, disabled,

where the hedgerows broke
into a rose incandescence
never before seen or perfumed.

there, at the end of my ruins.

mary angela douglas 7 march 2016