we were meant to hide in Cezanne
the planes of light the leaf scarcely sketched
and there you have a house lemon yellow
of sorts the ghost of our speech
populated with its allusive fairy tales out of reach
the chimes of arvo part
this is emigre life not as it is pictured in the New York Times
more venerable, venerations over time
the chimes of arvo part
the infinities split disclosing the pearl archive;
the icon that is weeping that is weeping that is weeping
into the mirrors of God.
mary angela douglas 30 november 2019
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