Who Keeps Singing It

13th Reflection on Kabakov

the things you had learned
while whirring among the stars
as if in a landscape by Dore

Dante's Dore commit to a piece of paper
in the teeth of such a wind
you may later, said the angel

the one with furry wings
the one that held your gaze
and splintered in Cezanne

precisely the blues from the greens
it isnt sequestered really
where you live

expounding the clouds
making up small messages to send
welcoming the white winged things forlorn

into the winter corners on the canvas

let words fall like glass
on a stage of permanent stars
the mirror image reversed

so that we walk on skies
and have for a roof, the earth


the paper torn
in the teeth of such a wind
begin with small crayons...

in an abandoned field
someone has tossed golden apples almost everywhere
only I don't know who

keeps singing it, this way
so that I continue hearing
the music without the words

the petaling ones free falling
from the far balconies.

mary angela douglas 18 june 2019