Sunday, August 14, 2016

Singing Was Different Then

singing was different then
as though we had cast our nets
toward the Beautiful

forever slipping through
the jade territories, hints of
the early Spring

or lit our candles privately
before an unnamed shrine
in evening dews;

endowed so quietly
as if we could reach Heaven, somehow,
on a dime with one note only,

only a silver bell,
a rubied chime
so that Time drew back

at the edge

of the glimmering wood
as in childhood,
where it was forgot. 

and song was the well
rimmed with wishes
into which was set

one jewel, and then another
sinking down into clouded depths;
what men have wept to find.

such was grief and laughter then;
the gift of pretending kingdoms until it became
so real

that we could fell all hearts
in the grimness then, made Light and
threaded music

spilling into,
over and above,
the thunderstruck love of God.

mary angela douglas 14 august 2016