Something

even in a closed system, God can breathe on the pane
out of the ash a sudden ember
though the eye remains

shuttered.
there, on the border of dreams
one may not remember in the morning

something stirs the curtains
in a heralding way.
who can say what it is for sure.

was it the wind
the child awaking early wondered
something else, that gold let in

why pretend if not to know
something glows;it isn't us.
something

in search of what was when:
Eden, and the rusted gates.

mary angela douglas 14 may 2019