A Passing

a failed luminescence in the July grass or
under the overpass
away from the roar of crowds

and the awards banquets;
warehoused by the proud, if at all

a burnt out fuse of nothingness
no name outloud.
was gathered in the small hours overnight

by the angels
flinging exorbitant praise like broken glass shining
and needing no grave now.

mary angela douglas 2 july 2016