Not Yet

we breathed in the snow-crystal air
and were not wounded;
the scent of flowers, unaware

of where they were blooming;
the moss green winds, the realms
that could not end,

all this was allowed
though not officially.
still, our wishes sailed

and we watched them long
after they were sent
and waited, in their advents,

collected within ourselves,

invisible crowns on our heads
as in the fairy tales;
exiled as birds

we could not return
to land yet
in a human form.

mary angela douglas 17 july 2016