and the wave rose up to meet us
before we had touched down
and this was not drowning.
this was breathing
in another way
our words unformed in the hard frost
that you could not say
where you had been then
when you returned
doesn't mean you were nowhere.
we threaded the needle in tears at our plight
and sought to embroider with words
all that we heard that night
though we were deemed inarticulate.
having seen the angels over the glazed fields
we could not speak into Love
what we felt there.
mary angela douglas 17 january 2017