the willows waft by ancient ponds
and you peer so deeply into the wells
where a fairy skidded moon appears;
is it the surface you ask
but no one there
that ever catches you unaware and
alone, compels this love of
the froth on the wind;
the candle flame going out, again.
fasten the shutters from the inside,
you cannot know this.
mary angela douglas 6 july 2016