Not Every Spinning Wheel Wound

not every spinning wheel wound puts you to sleep
in the somnambulist ballet of the peach and the
deep azure of the stage

where the dream is set
and the christening ends with a spell
let music: harp and grief, agree

as to the chapter and verse
and eternity spin us beyond the worst of it
what sounds like thunder in the cymbaline crash

preceding the long and the overdue rains.
the green earth gashed...forgetting who we are.
sleep without wonder slept the children

while even the desert dreamed it was in bloom.

and I in their fairytale room watch the moon grow candleit within
and the phases of the rose count out
and send up hope in a jeweled flare

to God my God in a dreaming prayer
please spare us here
these diminishments ;

we would be good
and turn again to the fairytale wood
to april reenactments,

pale green budding of the stars.

mary angela douglas 23 january 2018