Vestibule

dry sticks rubbed together in a high wind
flecks nor sparks nor anything at all
but we saw light, it flooded the door

and when you opened it,
there was more.
this was in the realm of dream

dreamed once, dreamed twice
the auction of beauty free
from the picket lines the

asking for redress, political designs;
the clear belled conscience
and the rest the green lined vestibule

of those who know
they know
the kingdom lives within

and cannot be bought and sold.
and what is more,
not even voted for.

mary angela douglas 1 march 2017