as if he dipped his brush in mist
how else could he accomplish this rendering
of moonlight and shadows
on the page before you
fresh still from the unacknowledged realms
where he dwelled seemingly
two places or more
at the same time
entering by a door held upon by querulous elves
in a refinement unexcelled
who else
could bring such vagaries to watercoloured light
the wake of the wind and the Princess in flight
in a twilight seeming
more acute than dreaming
ghostlike but clear as the clearest stream
rendering the thing you yearned for
in earliest childhood,the visual language for it
recalling long forgotten years
in the very same colors
that have disappeared.
but there, on the fern breathed page
the imprint still remains.
mary angela douglas 6 september 2022;23 february 2023
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