april filtered through a broken window
letting in all that green air, all that chill cold
I learned all the notes by heart then
seated at a piano made of flowers
and in a recital, bridesmaid dress, pale raspberry.
this was when
music was still alive
out of all one cherished best
and fell into the heart
like living waters, light, and lightly
the trees dreaming early
of their soon to be blossoming.
music is blossoming too and lost
in the last maze
of sound and on,
on the petaled, the receding air, astounds,
cascading,
falling apart, undefended art
as the critical arrive
in busloads;
I will turn aside
in the last green wood
and think of old poetry
my only gold and good
phasing itself out of here
like a foreign moon enclouded
bearing the last echo, etude
of singular beauty like a cross
only Christ understood.
mary angela douglas 30 november 2022
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