there was a language before we came
soft gold molten as the summer rains
and formed of mist
of the sough of branches
on a wind burned sky
and shadows in pre
conversation;
whose words were snow
and grew, opal by opal,
storied, and old
the jewels falling out of it
one by one
like something outworn?
have they torn my soul
I cried when I found it,
have they torn my page
from the book of life
that they have consigned my words
to the yellow flecked tides
in exile, every one?
mary angela douglas 6 december 2016
soft gold molten as the summer rains
and formed of mist
of the sough of branches
on a wind burned sky
and shadows in pre
conversation;
whose words were snow
and grew, opal by opal,
storied, and old
the jewels falling out of it
one by one
like something outworn?
have they torn my soul
I cried when I found it,
have they torn my page
from the book of life
that they have consigned my words
to the yellow flecked tides
in exile, every one?
mary angela douglas 6 december 2016
