Tuesday, August 09, 2016

The White Ship On The Waters Of Braille

the allusive ship, the white ship vanishing
into mists, or onto the canvas
where the artist is disappearing

into a cameo frame

or the haunting of our years
the ship down, the treasure
never found

the jewels transposed into light
and the passengers with them.
in childhood, the ship that

sparkled on the waters,
the waters of dream
ah! the white ship

and you are lulled,
thinking you are there
or is it, as is often the case

the moonlight sheer, and sure,
the ship made of moonbeams
your mother sings of

and now in the harbor, the white
ship, is it the same one there
and you hear it when sleep is fugitive

and the sound of oars or something silvered

or is it the ship of diamond and evanescent snows
half buried in winters long ago
foundering at the Poles

or the ship that bore Arthur away
that tragic king
three lilies in his hands

on the wide white waters
on the violet waters pale.

mary angela douglas 9 august 2016