Wednesday, February 08, 2017

The Library of Clouds

when I was Queen of the Library of Clouds,
someone's godmother spoke airily,
oh then it was I leafed through

wisps and mounds of colour drifting
skies never spoken quite out loud
and flights of birds

and the songs of going away.
all on display, the jeweled tones
fading shade to shade

remembered and the qualities of light.
all this was yesteryear
the mining of the days

and golden before
above beside us
after the rains refracted

into myriad rainbows
skimming the puddles
where small children played

scattering the rose tinged sparrows.

mary angela douglas 8 february 2017