Mercurial, Rattled By The Winds

silver nitrate flakes off the sun
and in the end it's antiphonal
in your autumnal dream

the leaves are rust only
we speak of amber
and are not convinced

putting up fences from
fallen stars, the remnants of meteors
we are

the wind is sound not space

not letting you know, not a day too early
nor too late
who are you now

did you slip the gates
how have all images run

quicksilver from
the hurricane force that yesterday
removed all houses

from the landscape
of Time.
and rendered the maps to ash.

mary angela douglas 22 november 2019