and will we step through them as
we meant to do in childhood?
and will roses too become translucent toward their evenings
and dear familiar scenes revivified,
the leaves more alive than before,
the dew drop quivering
and constellations one or two
fall out of their sewing patterns
in the skies?
a wind will come from the source of all octobers
and all our leaves turn jewel like, of a sudden.
what will it feel like, she breathed,
the ghost child on my lap.
I don't know.
but we will be beautiful.
mary angela douglas 5 july 2016