Wednesday, July 06, 2016

While The Winds

the moths of stars gather.
is it twilight yet, we wonder
dressed in our ghostly blue

and with fuller skirts
than we remembered.
petticoats to the wind

we sail,
old jokes on the tips of our tongues
or snows,

tasting like cherries.
the branches sough
as they did once in early films

while the zither winds
drift home

mary angela douglas 6 july 2016