Friday, July 22, 2016


oh it is flying away sang children to their balloons
now sadly in all their colours farther away than
they used to be

and ice cream melts all strawberry in the afternoons

snow in December all too soon the leaves turn gold
and just as you turn to say, how beautiful,
they blow away

and the edge of music shimmers at close of days
more sharply so that the heart almost stops
as if turning on the dime of it and then

the chimes on breezes too and there is no time,
not time enough to hear,
waterfall cascading, all of it;

you play no longer on the keyboard of

dreams when your nightmare seams fall apart and
spill out into the day to day of making toast,
and coffee, maybe

but ah, say I where no one knows
the wild cherry sum of it exceeding
all the formulas,

the heart keeps its own chambers
and there, it is always God saying over again
to you as if He cherished the sound of it,

oh yes, Light, let there be...

and you cry all the iridescenes
till the floodtide,
from happiness,

going away with Him, then.

mary angela douglas 22 july 2016