Thursday, December 29, 2016

Where Is The Place I Try To Find

where is the place I try to find
but if it exists, is hiding in a
neverending game of

hide and seek
though I weep and through my tears
find it under the pillow, in my sleep.

laughing, I would be there

dappled and dreams queing up
for a long, long while
and gifts of song like apples

windfall falling in the orchards.
how green and red and gold
as if on perpetual holiday

springs would be then,
aprils unemcumbered by
the inevitable moment of

blossoms all blowing away,
the bride trees stricken.
and I would gather violets then-

sweet peas, posies from the
old fashioned gardens glowing anew.
ah, there is no ticket there, no pass

through  the rose reft thickets 
though I look in the glass
of a thousand summers

wishing it were not true.

mary angela douglas 29 december 2016