for Ilya and Emilia Kabakov
there will be light
coming from no direction
not even from the sun
or the midnight one
preserved in the installation
who can say
by what method
snow is falling outside
the temporary windows
by no method at all
a single light bulb
and white rainbows
flooding the scene
you think you remember
though you are not
from that country
but suddenly
the names of all lost things
are calling
your name
as you stand there
as they did once
in school or sainthood,
taking attendance
the soft light diffusing
what you knew
of yourself
flown into an expansive space
with your half wing fluttering
where have you come from
they ask you in the corridors
as if they knew themselves
the children whispering,
the answer that is floating away.
and are just testing out
on you, the nonenity,
a potential new play.
your insistence on
the colour of summers then.
mary angela douglas 24 april 2019
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