to those who slipped on the hammered gold of the moon
the moon's reflection, who never told anyone
where they were going who one moment were here
and the next instant disappeared I am writing this
in a cursive of silver with a golden edge
to those who slipped from the ledge leaning back too far
may they have a diamond compass in heaven
to see the beautiful, the evening star
stepping into the clouds I weep this not aloud
I only stoop and pray on the hard exacting earth
as if on a promontory of tears
to say ever has it been this way
for those who dream too far leaning out of the window
in the crosscurrents of air
not measuring where they are to see the last thing
jagged as lightning in the midnight skies
they ever saw on earth.
mary angela douglas 30 january 2021
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