You Barrel Through Your Lists Of Things To Do

you barrel through your lists of things to do
feeding the ghosts of cats mysterious cream
while life like a ticking dream moves on

and you are caught in that stream
my heart, you ancient valentine
no matter what you wish

or you opine
dining on cheese and crackers to get through
with everything by noon;

creasing the folds in the wonderland blue
continuing to be you, you think you can
live on till dawn task after task

brushing aside the inconvenient wings
of colours floating in,
from the Unseen

to fall gardenia petaled in the grass

when God keeps giving you hints
in a starry, mixed up tense even while you sense
the sunflower clocks are sequin weeping a

Gold that cannot last.
not forgetting the gears of light
the zinnias meshed

the fireworks over the parks
in stops and starts
all morning glory, the pier glass folds

though ever the clouds are new,
the year freshly painted:

I dreamed that we were snow
and were not cognizant.

I would make lists of roses, now, of aureoles
if I could remember:
faint, on a manifest of silver

all the names.
or process all the claims.
making a note in distinctive handwriting

of how it feels to bloom
when you come late to the afternoon
all Alice at the garden door,

remotely elegiac.
the wrong size, always.

mary angela douglas 23 january 2019