Some Remarks at the Observatory, On The Eternal Feminine

like a planet forever generating its own miasma
the miasma of the dreams it has 
when it sleeps in silver light

or lilac or when certain trees scratch the
windows at night of the houses below it
and it thinks, at least, the world has become

beautiful, even if I have not. it does not know
the world as it is can play the mirror well
reflecting back to it as signals from afar

its own solitary beauty
so that it says to the indifferent waters
ah you understand

you have come to a corner of my soul
so unexpectedly and if planets could sigh
then it does.

until the mirror floats away or dries up
under the unrelenting sun.
then the planet despairs

its temperature cannot sustain life
it feels as though a knife
has cut from it

its own particular soul.
and Christ must console it now.

mary angela douglas 22 august 2019