I wondered always looking out on the yard
or out the windows of a childhood lengthening
into fire, the scattered stars. a thirst for God.
how is it possible and that the day feels
gold edged to me and in the fall I dream
in the colours of apples and feel this
freshness every day. I know I lived in that country.
forgetting the news. observing snowfalls as
if I were made of lace the moment they came down.
all this is besides the point they murmured to me underground.
but the snows kept gliding
and the light
gilded my hands.
mary angela douglas 8 april 2016