Hunting The Wendy Bird

high in the peaks of the undiscoverable
she will not fall from flight
nor her shadow be marred

in the blue starred twiilghts
or blister in the violet slated sun.
though hunters one by one

pluck out the streetlights
dreamlights harplights
what harm will come

from her guileless confessions

already she is a dream,
dismissed as a child
from late lessons.

mary angela douglas 7 february 2018