as if the face were a flower and it should bloom
whenever the moonlit terraces were obscured
that's how I dreamed of faces in my room
when I was fifteen and everything seemed my dream.
my dream unfolding as if it were a rose as if that rose
should bloom into a universe of Rose
or into a finer music endlessly transposed
I remember how it felt to live that way
and now in a latter age whenever I tell you
this was true I know you will not believe me
and there's nothing I can do.
mary angela douglas 5 march 2020
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