the inward collapse of an outward certainty
the glaze gives way
so that the white apple trees are suddenly inside you
the Spring day and swaying and you are full of breezes, blossoms:
this then is a poem
the cracking of surfaces
the piecrust broken
the delicious oozing of cherries
mixed in with the melted butter
or on a colder day
the tiny skaters glow within
on a frozen pond
with you as the snow globe
humming the skater's waltz over and over
you just can't help yourself
or sometimes, from the earth arises
in transparencies of Time
a thousand thousand Aprils
and all of them singing.
mary angela douglas 14 october 2021
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