beautiful are the lands that do not alter
holding aloft one short candle in the eclipse
I could say more about this
because the heart, my heart, is still living
as individual beauty hits a wall
and things are so drearily averaged
into the one and all
but individual sorrow says it all
distinctly, without saying
anything the papers ever sold before
while less than rhapsodic angels hold the
door
while they patrol and I lament
following my own bent
the inner republics, geographies breaking apart
there is no diagnosis in the ark
last on the floods from land
floating in the dark
and something whispers, I've seen this before
the singular inward continental drift
from the blank, collective shore
only by inner light outlast the day
the mercenaries sought what God had never wrought
to take it all away
my soul, my soul.
be very brave.
mary angela douglas 17 september 2022;18 september 2022;22 february 2023
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