On How A Poem Is Made

to mine the honey of words;to turn light on the spindle

the secret is to dream yourself into the light;the key,

to be conscious of light at all depths

that the bells wept seeking the drowned angels

farther from land now than it is possible to be

and then to gleam green on the instant

and sparkle into the fade

of all things made; to become the hum of bees

and the honey of the hive 

orange blossom, acacia,

may you sense from afar

the ruby tears of Mars, tin soldier , heart of lead

to lose the final dread

of time beyond all wars, the mended scars

of the eternities to mind the honey of the hive of words

as if it were the dress you wore sky blue as the summer day,

lightly, thinking little of yourself but careful for

the last prayer prayed, the last thing said

straying from the field

for the living, and the dead.

mary angela douglas 15 november 2021;14 february 2022