a pause in the maelstrom, an outbreak of stars
the moon gliding through translucent clouds
I keep the lace of it now as I did when I was 19
19, in the green unknowing
of the mauve flowers cupping the snows
in the school's quadrangle, the tulip tree,
early April, with the music interrupted
someone's violin practice through an open window,
suddenly I am that too, remembering
lingering there, at school
in between worlds and worlds
the golden fables in my head
then to you oh Lord I pledged my
small insistent flag as unto the Living Word
over the field of language even if unheard forever
the early ache from home, departing,
still present, all prescience and little else yet
keeping in the inner worlds alive
after all, all this Time, now at 71
time lapsing in the keener winds:
the rushing of the stars, visibly shaken.
mary angela douglas 10 november 2022
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