Portmanteau

it's started you think or maybe not

this shifting;this sifting of everything upwards

like Van Gogh's stars

swirling above the lemon cafe at dusk

you must to get

the bird's eye view of the land

and then you feel it's who I am

you are the rains and the lilies of the field;

sweeping in again,

you are music

but not as you used to be, transposed

is it the eclipse of the rose or the wave this time

the gold melting of fissures into rhymes

the crystal on its own in the spectacular caves

the day the calender had no mystical inkling of

when the Christmas star was in the skies

about to arise. and with the Dove

pack the green portmanteau

the one that holds everything

your heart will ever know

the landscapes you believed beloved

the bread and butter on the side;

when everything turned against you as a bride

following the trail you discovered in childhood

trodding in spring's blue silk

the path in the secret woods bordered with violets

where the flowers sparkled

pretending they were snow.

to let you know: this is you now

with a long way to go. isn't it wonderful.

mary angela douglas 22 february 2021