if I in the braille of my dreams offend thee Lord
forgive me that I cannot see from one wingtip to another
the slightest of your angels
not even the tops of your trees
or nascent catastrophes
forgive me for the clouded messages
i send on the snow scented breeze
the milk white absences
where there should be stars
it is beautiful where You are
I am sure of it
oh let me be there
one lemon bright morning
before it starts to rain
and I wake up again.
mary angela douglas 21 january 2023
No comments:
Post a Comment