The Face You Wear In Dreams

is there a lace that shines like
the face you wear in dreams
its own mirror

paper cut, snow sequenced
from the gift wrap glimmer
the silver children found

in the dresser drawers
then, they draw more
and it

registers the light
from distant stars, their little songs
how close they are: the yellow stars,

their candy wrapper gold;

you breathe them in
thinking: this has never happened,
will it happen again

yet it all seems so familiar
the town laid out like a
Christmas village

only dime size now
with no little trains
to take you from town

and time is everywhere

a sea so small and deep
you could cross it in a nutshell
or vanish like the twelve

princesses under ground

the ones who danced all night
and you mended their shoes with
small flowers, bits of crystal

before first light.
now you float in the shallow end of sleep
and the sky is peach

and time is so generous
you gather it up in baskets
tied with bright ribbons

goodbye you try to say before you wake
but it happens too fast.

mary angela douglas 25 september 2017