Kierkegaard In The Winter Snow

I think of Kierkegaard.
Kierkegaard in the winter snow,
perpetually

turning his back on the early violets.
I think of him in a snow globe
on my desk

pacing to and fro or
loading his coffee with inordinate sugar
in one anecdote

accosting his friend in the street
with an outlandish coat on
scolding him for that.

oh Kierkegaard, where's your hat
I long to say suddenly because in the snow
globe the wind has knocked it off

so there he is hatless. 
and that's my judgement on him.
or the Danish wind.

I hear faint music

and then the music stops.
he's left his aesthetic phase
and changed all the locks

and I want to say

Remember Hans Andersen!
it isn't as gloomy as you think.
or anxious.

the ugly duckling rose to become

a swan.
but he remains melancholy
and I no longer have to shake

the snow globe in order for him
to feel
he is still forsaken

he is still forsaking everything
as a precaution,
but God.

mary angela douglas 9 october 2019