nor the green trees in the wind
I have been bidden to go.
and I have packed the snows
and the vials of the sun
that when they come
I will have melted away.
from gazing at the clock on the wall
I have been freed
to dreaming there is nothing at all
to be heeded any longer
from those who command me to leave
though the rose petal scatter of my heart my heart
would seem to indicate otherwise.
thus I will take up my treasure
of the grey sky
turning imperceptibly to opals,
of the musical complaint of the rain.
and they will think me poor and lost or lame.
and though I seem to tilt my head
to the letter of their law and acquiesce
and have no rest from their harrying
laughing where they can't hear me
I am, at your behest
oh Lord of the jeweled ferrying.
mary angela douglas 1 april 2017