Whatever I Had To Say

the moon in last year's silver skirts the stars
how is it we still know exactly where we are
I wonder sometimes having no compass and 

no astralobe. what is the something in us that still knows
how to sense the ozone in the wind before the rains begin
to still within us the present trials.

we are mysterious too I cry emphatically to the constellations
and gave you names when you had none.
but still they flame on till the moon turns to orchid

and whatever I had to say to you then
or now
is never done.

mary angela douglas 24 march 2020