silver turrets beneath the tufted clouds
I dreamed another scrapbook dream outloud
this one, whose seams were pearled
I didn't want to leave or to fade out
in the margins of that mist with violets at my wrist
I cried, almost dissolved or dispossessed
that birches were silver too
and all I thought I knew
before I doubled back before the double doors
leading into/away from the drift of another language.
never matter whose. or if by the Snow Maid formed
will I be considered worthy I asked the dream shapes
before all deja vu
or I tried to:
my attendant, colorform angels
as they wavered
once more like consciousness, that bright rubber ball
I am bounced back into the waking room
trying to make sense of the feltboard figures
slipping further down that won't stay put
and fingerpaint imprints,
glints from the silver towers.
mary angela douglas 14 april 2018
I dreamed another scrapbook dream outloud
this one, whose seams were pearled
I didn't want to leave or to fade out
in the margins of that mist with violets at my wrist
I cried, almost dissolved or dispossessed
that birches were silver too
and all I thought I knew
before I doubled back before the double doors
leading into/away from the drift of another language.
never matter whose. or if by the Snow Maid formed
will I be considered worthy I asked the dream shapes
before all deja vu
or I tried to:
my attendant, colorform angels
as they wavered
once more like consciousness, that bright rubber ball
I am bounced back into the waking room
trying to make sense of the feltboard figures
slipping further down that won't stay put
and fingerpaint imprints,
glints from the silver towers.
mary angela douglas 14 april 2018
