so what if they scatter our flotillas of light
with their little pink birthday candles
on aome other shore they will be dawning
beyond the masquerades, the predictable awnings
we will find the unshaped gardens again
the wild rose music and our pure hearted friends
the beautiful fields of what has been;
who owns the light
serenade it to the lunch time crowds
when you haven't even a quarter for eclairs
whisper to God what they won't permit or bear
to heck with their glares
the night bird sings
the moon in rings is haloed still
call it what you will, a retrograde star
the need to seek the very Far From Here
since childhood. really
to disappear in a Christmas mood
where there isn't any other news
only raspberries and fresh cream
nor ever of dreaming be disabused.
mary angela douglas 29 august 2022;28 february 2023
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