After The Japanese, To The Memory Of The Imagists

one night while children slept
it began to rain flowers.
it rained flowers all night

and they stepped out in their
petal like dreams, their hands
cupped like flowers the snow

skiess filled up, like the cups of
lilies. this was music
the monologue referred to

itself and we are on the stage
that moonlight made, is making.
we are the dream of the flowers

and we will not be the same.
being now the imaginary denizens
of a flower kingdom, far away.

mary angela douglas 21 march 2018