as though they were wild animals
words served the circuses of those
who knew how to trap them
but I find
more and more distance from these.
and in a dream I saw a golden door
and the door was open and then not.
and dark angels barred the way
spears shooting from their eyes
at anyone who tried
to pass that way
so that no man dared look on them.
and I saw the golden door
that it was weeping as Before
so that it dissolved
and we passed through
my words and I
my cherry bright words
that longed to sing
we passed through
and were free.
mary angela douglas 18 january 2017