who washed the dream sand out of our eyes
I whisper to myself in moments of stray leisure
who muted the poets so they count their words so spare
you couldn't think there was poetry anywhere
who stopped up the fountains of the heralding angels
my ruby gold alphabet, who shifted you downriver:
ship without sailing,
undelivered mail.
I remember you with all roses,
the Pleiades;
my vintage valentine
to the dictionaries of snow.
mary angela douglas 4 january 2022
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