I dreamed that language was a pure sphere shining
like the bright star of Keats like a silver tree
and the root was gold and in our sleep our long affliction
we breathed in Logos and it was Spring all language
flowering and the Renaissance of all hearts my heart
and the serpent was gone that gnawed at the root of gold
that strove to poison everything
the serpent was shed from the world from the worlds upon worlds
and each word grew green again and we were so happy
each word was a star like the bright star of Keats and steadfast
and the Glory of God was made manifest
manifest as every poem and richly blessed
we were and the sound of it only
Music, holy and pouring like a stream
after long deserts dreamed.
mary angela douglas 22 october 2021
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