who ate from dishes the colour of raspberries
who longed for snows in deep summer.
carving ivories in the shade
the snow maid glimmered,
and was gone
while we made april stations of the cross
and crowned the emptiness with flowers.
how will they auction her piano
when everything she dreamed was music
and angels guard the treble clefs
the grace notes made of diamonds.
and grant her rest.
ah! bar the creditors at the door
and break the rabble
the trampling of her shadows
in the afternoon by the curious
seeking curios and no more.
by those who itch
to sell Forever
having no tune of their own.
mary angela douglas 3 november 2016