where the canals will not reflect the sun.
ah no shimmering on the waters;
the heart, said Emily, like a loaded gun.
how false above all false things seemed to me
the murmurings behind the rigged scenes of the world
and I am not dressed in cloth of gold by God himself
for this,I sang unheeded to the carousel's whirl.
there is the hissing of snakes and the dried up floods
of tears and the waning, wasted years
and this I will not, did not celebrate;
solitary, on the pale blue hills; surveyor
of the wreckage.
mary angela douglas 26 april 2016