How It Is, Feels To Be Lost In The Blizzard Of The Poem

how it is, feels to be lost in the blizzard of the poem

with night coming on is not what you would imagine

for the snows are imaginary and especially the cold

though on the surface windowpane my breath

makes convincing frost and is elaborate as a tapestry

with its buds, its blooms, its little ferns entwined

in pure silver so refined

yet I am not in the house but without and words appear

as the moon receding the frozen moon in the frozen pond

is snowed upon and I feel the snow filling up my heart

as though my heart were a cupping flower pale and lifted up in the dark

from its blossoming in the interrupted Spring

and now unaccountably a star has fallen from Heaven

and become a swinging lantern in my hands

and the landscape I once knew is the snow country

and it's all all in my own language.

mary angela douglas 21 april 2021