if I had written on a stony page
on rose alabaster in Italian script and. in a distant age
so chiseled my heart
in a dream a song without words
who would sing it but a realm of birds
long since departed;
the currents of air above great elevations
but speculation fades, like wildflowers on dark autumn's crest,
speculation which no star attends
and I am left to mend my words on earth
that may as well be flowers of frost or snow
that may as well be, for all I know.
mary angela douglas 15 july 2022
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