falling back into God we will not fear
as into the snowlights of the waning year
as dream fades into Dream, more real
by the ageless minute.
the music ticks the metronomes away
the ladders by dim windows stray
and they are made of gold.
they will unroll, defying gravity,
the flower seeded carpets on the lawns
regretfully, we leave behind.
that we ourselves may finally be
the flowering we thought we were
when we were young.
or only, just about, ready
in fields forever and
mary angela douglas 1 april 2016