In Eden

hearing was like the flutter of doves

speaking like singing the wind through the grasses

or the high stars, chaparral,

the scuttle of foam on seas

and poetry what was poetry then

but all the light

as far as the heart could see

no impediment.

birdsong at rest or cresting the rainbow permanence

we were heirs to then

we were there

though to you it may not seem so

thinking we are the brides of an incontrovertible ignorance.

we were there we remember it the glance of emeralds at dawn

from every rose capped lawn

though with an insouciant rumbling

the world would drown out the slightest gleam in us now

we still go on living there

somehow: in every fugitive dream.

mary angela douglas 21 october 2021