(for Percy Bysshe Shelley)
into a cloud as into an azure shining fly
careening into a star that's dying
into an orchid mist declaiming this
my muted birds
beyond immortal tree lines
spiraling
daunting in pearl edged mists dissolving
turning in the winds on the last blade of light.
before, before the songless nights.
mary angela douglas 11 august 2021
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