Shifted

was it an impossible thing: a katydid green
on a snowy canvas;the snow, crumbling in
your hands?

the violet sands of deserts
on the planets of the sun;
or vermillion dried up in the tube

so that the sun is bleached;
also, the roses.
and children cry for water

in a foreign tongue,
near the ancient fountains,
o aquamarine;

why have you vanished
into the seam of  earthquakes, shifting
everything.

mary angela douglas 7 july 2016