To The Bugler Falling To Earth

I dreamt I was warned in dreams
to depart another way
to stitch together the clouds

so that the sun could hide, repairing itself
out of the view of children who could cry
Look, Mama, the sun is bleeding gold

i dreamed in the violet twilights
music was no longer thwarted.
Lincoln on a ghost train

returned to fall again,
the copious weeping.
Whitman with lilac in his hands

and the lilac crumbling
oh shiloh shiloh
gettysburg again
the lilacs weeping.
the bugle falling to the ground

from the snow clad lips of the bugler
the nation not laid to rest
Lincoln returning on a ghost train

returning to fall again
the recurring nightmare...
song itself is wounded I cried

the staff of irretreivable music
the march of senseless pride
carries the day

far away from us all.
but God still hears the bugle call
falling to earth from snow clad lips

and sifts the voices.
and carries us through
when we can no longer stand.

mary angela douglas 25 june 2020