The Rising

beginning again on the green leafed path
with the dew on the grasses, our diamonds,
or the overhang of orchid clouds

the alphabet,
all the colours!
and telling time out loud;

telling time by what He said:
"I will make all things new."
he said this I think, I feel,

in golden letters.
in the tick of the fairy tale clock,

and I play nocturnes again
on my Grandmother's Steinway piano
observe the irises

take comfort in the demitasse

of hand painted roses, or violets
on a background of cream, the late strawberries.
the view from the screen door.

I implore you oh Heavens

for the calendar towel of linen in any year
with the old mill stream;
the songs my mother taught me

in a dream;
the songs without words.
the same cherished pines.

more time to remember
the way that we have come

the rising,
not the setting,
Son.

mary angela douglas 19 may 2019