for Emily Dickinson
confined to the shallows we contemplate the deep
though mocked in any gown from river, bay or town
we garden by moonlight
dressed in the same colours.
why must you persist
in making poems like this
insists the knocking
at the gate of the Soul
I wear the brightest maple red
at the heart's center
it flares up like a lantern
from the long ago
when you turn the pages lazily
thinking I could write poems
so much better than these.
ah...but could you feel them...
mary angela douglas 1 august 2018
