Wednesday, September 28, 2016


how is it that your sap runs off
into the stars
and the silver birds that gathered

wonder where you are
I sense your treefall in my densest dream
where the forests blur on a tapestried screen;

unseen, your roots, upended
yet the sea churns,
the moon leans at the window,

faded grace
and you have lost your clouded face.
oh have they dissolved

the memory of leaves,the green veins one by one
that joyed in light; the light spun,

bleeding into your shadow
in the grove
and the winds

have no harp anymore

mary angela douglas 28 september 2016