December. and the glaze of the hour.
and I am looking through it
as if I could see the
world within the world
where nothing stirs
at a speed you'd recognize
only angels moving slowly
up the trapezoid of time
and time is a circus there
and the angels in the stands
eat peanuts and buy little dolls
with spangly dresses,
eating sweets out of small cups
and waiting for the elephants...
I'm a cotton candy prayer
late winter's child looking
back at summer tracks in mud
and under the clay baking sun
no longer.
holly's on the doors
and the bright winds sweep through the cracks
while remaining sparrows sing
pecking at the ice
as though it were food.
yesterday I heard as if by mistake,
a friend died last april
to whom I had continued writing
and no dreams came to tell me otherwise.
no angels at the door
with something from that shore
no telegraph relay:
he cannot hear you anymore
he's in the wood beyond the world.
mary angela douglas 8 december 2017
and I am looking through it
as if I could see the
world within the world
where nothing stirs
at a speed you'd recognize
only angels moving slowly
up the trapezoid of time
and time is a circus there
and the angels in the stands
eat peanuts and buy little dolls
with spangly dresses,
eating sweets out of small cups
and waiting for the elephants...
I'm a cotton candy prayer
late winter's child looking
back at summer tracks in mud
and under the clay baking sun
no longer.
holly's on the doors
and the bright winds sweep through the cracks
while remaining sparrows sing
pecking at the ice
as though it were food.
yesterday I heard as if by mistake,
a friend died last april
to whom I had continued writing
and no dreams came to tell me otherwise.
no angels at the door
with something from that shore
no telegraph relay:
he cannot hear you anymore
he's in the wood beyond the world.
mary angela douglas 8 december 2017
