they thought I was blind music
in my summer cathedrals
amid the pink and the green
of odd water coloured days
or was I white rains on
the crackled pavements
the dissonant flute
at their epic parades
with not much to say;
pastel as ice creams
uncertain as a sigh.
I was the fern imprinted
on small stones
who loved cool hollows
and being alone.
the hollowed out earth
the coolness,
the canopy of leaves.
and peach starred fairy stories.
any breeze
in between shadows of the pressed flowers;
the mist of small waterfalls for hours
and more than these, the morning glories,
the rainbows of the semiprecious.
jewelry lent by God.
you said standing in her dream
how can she stand at all
where the moss is slippery
and she might fall into the streams;
who would see her? strange fish,
a mere ghost on unruled paper.
they turned laughing away at this
as if they owned the sunshine gold.
held daisy chain sway.
but I remember those summers,
that they were indelible.
my soul piled high with white violets.
mary angela douglas 13 february 2018
