The Green Waning

a gusty day, and I am middeck my crumbling yellow cake
high rise, dispositioned castle
when I see crosscurrents in the wind

wildly tearing the green leaves of April
that Shellyian fly thick and thicker then
that suddenly. grieving the trees

I dream of wanings

of the green waning who can explain like
the bud that does not flower
crowned with crystal

in the winter u-turns.
but this, who can explain
a green autumn

now they fly updrafted downdrafted
green and green again lost birds with no wings
who can forsee

who could
when they first leafed the trees
under an early moon

and the new clover tufted nearby

they would be gone so soon
in the green waning
the predicate of all lament

that covers the earth
in so many ways for whose sake
I weep poetry;

this emerald eclipse at daybreak.

mary angela douglas 28 april 2019