we have hidden the Word in clouds
that it might rain diamonds
no one has time for that now
the red leaves tinged in gold
the attic curled stories, heartache
locked in a silver box or
not, depending on
which version of the song they know
retrieved, with great difficulty.
you sing, the sound falling off
into amethysts; the clock inlaid
with opal weeps, retreat! the
children's ruby throated armies
stock still, shuttered in the living rooms.
why will this be so she asked
brief snows,the breviary noons.
men at arms.
come away
you lived your life in a mist
weeping comets
not to distress birdsong headlong in Aprils
silver falling out of the clouds,
ocassionaly in emeralds, the trees.
I remember these.
I remembered home
the waterfalls of music
in a stone age turned to the wall.
we tuned our lyres in vain
and the vines grew over it.
the rose thorned.
where the princess lay
in State.
mary angela douglas 2 august 2018
