Saturday, July 08, 2017

The Air Laden With Spring

lifted above your belongings, will you turn to stars?
or scar old distances
the soul perfumed like cut grass.

you name the things that will last
not daring to speak their names out loud
and live

from cloud to cloud
in classroom dreaming
every book has a golden seam

that you are seeming
and time in the hallways
in between bells

seems apple rich.
lean into the ditch
when the storms blow over

the filmstrips warn:

enamel my words in green.
my time has fractured its starlight, singing
the air, the airs laden with Spring and

the pieces are everywhere

mary angela douglas 8 july 2017