Small Roses

I'm not the frozen ground I said
not telling the beads of the sky
blue rosaries the secrets of leaves

they have withered
I am not the frozen ground
the glaze on the moon

I'm not the tower and the
one within counting the beads
of the night bird rosaries

wearing the dress of the sun
cinched with a sobbing gold
the sun like a disc so far away

I'm not the chime of the iced stars
not yet it is springtime in my mind
overflowing with lilies

with sky blue columbine.
small roses.

mary angela douglas 3 january 2017