to sleep in a parenthesis of silence
seeded under the snows;
was this poetry;
it was what I dreamed
an ice age ago
to be present at the Resurrection
the instant Light flung its tattered wing
over the darkness sung into gold;
the heart no longer,
broken flower on a stem
floating on the abyss;
the wolves no longer, oh how can I say this-
gnawing the moonlight away.
mary angela douglas 16 october 2021
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