Wednesday, July 26, 2017

The Silence Of The Larks

[for Carolyn Hooper an extraordinary person and
unheralded actress]

dreaming is reading the last stars on the lawn
the dews ensconced and the day lilies folded away
with other things

you won't need since that day
the one in blank colours you could draw from memory
and let the roses recede.

the seed pearls go to seed
yet the mysteries remain
unweeded with the weeds

and though no waves sped

your dreamed boat onward
still is the water lapping in the bay
and you'll fall asleep that way

washed over with indigo
collecting small pink shells in your hand
it's what I understand you'll slightly shrug

the sparkle of your earring catching the glint of stars
while you refrain from explaining
the little I know is

dreaming is reading the 

fireflies going out
the pale green pincushion
of an april heart

foisted on the world
with its tiny swords

and the violets that never lingered
the persimmon dark coming down
like the curtain on the stage

the silence of the larks

the one and only cue where they close the play
the one where you read
your best part

everyone said so,
afterwards.

mary angela douglas 26 july 2017