The Flight Of Ideas From Here (Third Version)

THE FLIGHT OF IDEAS FROM HERE

[to Robin Williams]

complexities in music are expected; yet, a fantastic flow of words, a disease decreed the doctors to the poets time out of mind though Light itself is scattered blessedly from

quartz to quartz and this is what we call sparkling
in some quarters.

dimestore symptoms cannot ride out the storm oh spare me the diagnosis of the beautiful or Shakespeare's worlds on worlds for we on our best days

can launch from here balloons in every shade

and firecrackers, rockets of the full spectrum spinning and fizzing whirling into tulips, and leaves and trees in colours of the oohs and aahs of Chistmases remembered; or split, open

to a fairy tale beguiling,fissuring,

glittering with a subterranean splendor
and, for this, we set sail to find:
the crown jewels coronating the manifest of a language whose ship’s unknown and but

inwardly felt: to wit, Rilke in the woods catching birdsong on his sleeve and harkening
like all the rare others, to the souls unseen.

to God regardless of how men unsay His multifoliate Gold
beyond all alchemy
leave the pathologists who have murdered

imagination as if they could, forgoing the multiple pathways through the woods of Dostoyevsky, the Joycean epiphanies or Proust's pale emerald passages twined and intertwined curiously

with a telegram from Faure.
oh pack the saints away you will not

knowing as they do

that God spun out in myriad silken directions once the starry web that some would break
endlessly in us:

thinking that they do good.

mary angela douglas 14 august 2014;rev. 30 january 2018