still on the map of the world
or floating off the side
of sidereal enchantments
blooming on the tides
o my ship of comfits, of the gold wrapped doubloons
of the Christmas counting backwards
and the ancient runes.
o fir tree of the magnitudes
I am holding out
for the fireworks in the evenings
of the banished doubts
and the red gold shouts
of the angels in marine
and the green blue fishing out
architectures of our dreams
and the hull made out of rubies
and the mast of opaled light
and the journey undertaken
and the Magi's flight
is returning and returning
in a single teardrop life
that refracts the weeping rainbows
and the ships gone down at night.
mary angela douglas 8 november 2018;rev. 30 january 2019
