Returns

as you retund to us the light years the locusts had taken
may we recall the fragrance of cut grass
childlike, our breath in clouds on the glass

on school mornings.
the guardian pines.
the sense of time measured till Christmas

the newborn winds in the garden
and what there was then, of peace.
oh Lord mend as only you can

the years of stricture;
the heart in a vise
compelled to go on.

all song sifted at the ash heap.
even the memory of music
gone gone

the gates locked on inner space.
the clanging of discordant bells throughout
the small hells we lived in

and the daily burn
the flickering of our half lives
counting on your return.

mary angela douglas 14 july 2019