the sun in a yellow parachute slipped down
the southmost sky to a hidden lost and found
will you bury the sun?
I said to no one.
it can't be done.
the moon at her slipper soft loom
was weaving pearls
on a shipwrecked night
she fell from sight
into a dreamless world
go and tell me when
you'll excavate the winds
that blew her far away
in a slipshod day that saw no dawn
is it under the lawns of snow
the roses have to go
or only Christ instead
his heart of heavy lead arose pure gold
dont say that you dont know
we're
destined to go on
like a ladder with its rungs
and you'll climb every one
before your life is done
before your life is done
mary angela douglas 14 november 2022;10 february 2023
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