spelling the blue clouds indistinguishable from skies
I may come to the sense of things seen never with my eyes
but understood
the leafblown missionary green of woods
the cinnamon of earth, the blowing tide
the secret tolling of an inner bell
inside all spelling done
I had come to love so well
before they ever ever sang
to me the names of God the sweet mild sun
and then the floods came down
like liquid doves fluttering
in the touch of water and vividness arose
to link my heart to the name of the rose
the utterance divine, all things now
beneath their shapes reveal
the cut of orange and the orange peel
the waves of light illimitable
the message of small birds
the weight and heft of language
on the things unheard.
mary angela douglas 24 december 2019
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