the names of things we held in our heart
when alphabets foundered and worlds came apart
and the clouds drifted over mindless borders
and were crucified.
the names of things, the orange and the lemon
the midnight zither and the bluebird plans
the tissue paper birthdays at a secret command
all disappeared, their ribbons curling.
all but the names we taught our children to revere and
year past year,
never to split the silver from the rains,
to refrain from negating the Soul.
and ever to stow the heirloom
jewelry of the stars intact.
and always to be looking back
at the green world, when all its
colours were singing
and we were the Story and the story told
and we were the Tree,
and the leavss of gold.
mary angela douglas 3 february 2017