your slanted chalkboard writing tells the tale
or mirrorback, the night has lost its stars!
so children have to wander very far
from where they started from.
I strike the drum or listen for the chime
that God and I know floats as only mine
upon a wind as crystal as it's clear
your shadow's growing brighter
year to year when measured
on a birthday yardstick morning.
stop. the music's decrescendo here
and let the river Poetry go on
beyond the hills that stared at you so long
in every single place you ever knew
so that you loved the colour blue heedlessly,
until it wasn't there at all.
mary angela douglas 30 july 2019
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