we will sing water music and flow on
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and let God out of the closet of his own creation
where we have thrust Him weeping
only is it his tears or ours
we can't define in dreams
and so imagine ourselves, wilderness
with what remains to us without Him
this is what is not certain
what we can never prove
not that He has gone
what is song without Him
the fountainhead of song
the banished poets whisper
only a heartbeat away
from Being, Beauty. Light
how will we take flight
never knowing His name again
the Icarian wondera plunging out of sight
into Bruegel's green sea.
mary angela douglas 11 January 2018
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