truly it eludes our grasp
with a mist so fine
indistinguishable from breath
slip knot from Time
a sun shrunk to a needle of diamond
that fades in the grass, the leaf at dusk
that yet can shake us turning to rust
surpassing all grief in only one line.
like granite sometimes
it may outlast
or fly a variegated kite
on any breeze of our disposition.
whatever your position on it is
or may become
cast it off, a mere snakeskin.
an anchor of gold the moment you try
to ferret out its soul
vain assessor, to determine its atomic weight
measure, balance.
mold it is and startling leaves that dazzle the tree
on saying goodbye without an october warning
the ferns underfoot the larks at morning innocent of sin
rubric of the Rose incarnate Dante died for
the wheel of everything that sings and then
that won't let you in oh and green clear green
the very notes of Eden summoning,
cherished in a dream half remembered;
the gleam on which the day depends.
the last postscript:
almost,the map of God.
mary angela douglas 26 october 2021
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