implosions of the rose and then the emerald
some shards of olive the kaleidoscope turning
to the child the toy of stained glass which seems
only pebbles when you shake it yet when with
your gleaming starry eye you peer into it
it is folding and unfolding a thousand buds at once
it is your tiny Chartres
your baby etude come to life
in the silences that are pooled in amethyst
in rose gold in the Eternal moment in the nursery
where you never grow old.
mary angela douglas 12 february 2021
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