The Interim

somewhere there is a golden tree
that silver birds anoint with song
a mist that opens on a stage

an infinite gilding of the day
and starbright children still at play
and I want to go there

winged with all wishes and I want to know
there that God meant time for happiness
and nothing else

and then I will read all the books on the shelf
so that all colours rise from the pages mingled
the sounds of flutes and trumpets, acutely bright

the sound of the piano in its autumn sonatas played

while the morning glories on the fence are trumpeting too
the glory glories and we inherit all the stories
where wrongs are righted where love is plighted

and lives on
where nothing and no one is missing from the feast
and then we'll know the soul's release.

as we know only now the tinsel in dreams
partly in the shade part light our names turned inward, questioning
preparing for flight.

mary angela douglas 25 february 2020