your soul, singing above the wilderness
is heard by angels, light years on their way,
stray stars.
fragments of star showers
blasted out of their shining perhaps
by covert experiments.
your Soul,honey of pears
no despair
fine as mist wasn't missed except by God
lived raggedly in the past tense barely shod
but sang on earth notwithstanding
a bird in cactused exiles
courting invisible roses
and the jeweless Nightingale.
grow pale as dawn now, fade from the fading.
no second guessing. poet in waiting.
may your memory be a blessing, your least
call.
to those who forget to
acknowledge you.at all.
mary angela douglas 17 october 2022;20 february 2023
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