in the fog of dreams at times
there is a golden ladder made
of microns of light
perhaps someone has anchored it
like a rooted tree
into the sweet soil after the rains
and tossed the silver hook of it
over the thunderheads
and the clouds, being dream clouds
have been bewitched to stand still
what child commanding the skies
in light blue ways would not want to say
Stay Clouds and have the clouds obey
at any rate, the golden ladder is there
as much as anything can be said to be there
and so you start climbing like Jack did the beanstalk
or one of the saints seeking the Divine ladder of Ascents
you can't tell which; perhaps it is both
and you are in your school dress after school the gingham
one with the sash and really just wanted to ride your
bicycle around the block till you espied the shining ladder
in the backyard and you begin to climb you hope
into the lobby of Fairyland
and then the floppy dog wakes you up.
mary angela douglas 27 march 2021
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