when looking at the stars through childhood's curtains
that we didn't yet know the name of Galileo?
would spelling Copernicus have made them more beautiful
to our eyes?
when falling in love with prisms then, with rainbows
suddenly everywhere, there being no rain
was miraculous and set our souls shimmering
in our bare feet on the newly waxed floors.
To read in a book later that there are no colours really
it's just the dust in the air reconfigured by the brain
and to know this seemed to me a thing of poverty.
I will revert to richness, to the glow in the air
the feeling of green for the leaves, and the rose tinted
skies that echo the gardens,o kaleidoscope
of my dreams I will not deny deny deny
young or old, my bare feet sunken in the newly washed sod,
there is no colour without Light
there is no sight without God.
mary angela douglas 29 april 2016