Like The Honeycomb

must it be raining angels for you
to believe there is a language
even in the leaves:

in the whisper of rain on them or
on the back door screens;
in the honeyed shadows

in our dreams or when we wake

pouring in for free
on the wooden floors
and on the children making believe and

still at play
when the stars are out
and they can't see a thing

except happiness is meant to be
and this is enough of a miracle
for today's matchless lesson

in words dripping like the honeycomb;
couldn't you just say that?

mary angela douglas 1 august 2016