"speech after long silence;
it is right,..."
William Butler Yeats
speaking in long sentences has become so retro
in graceful handwriting on a black chalkboard
so all the words of my ephemera, language
bolted out of the stable door
no they did not. my ornamentals.
see I have hidden them in all the cupboards
and under the floorboards where others hide
their cash
and I have such a stash of them if I unscrewed one firefly lid
all the valleys for miles would be illuminated
no you may not steal my doves from the evening air
or dote upon monosyllables of despair here.
I will not cage them
but I cannot let them go.
beautiful words, forming themselves into
no no earthly migrations. multifoliate ever unfolding
Rose, my language. petal by petal grows
unfolding in the gardens of long silence.
of my no wild flowering trees I will not prune you back
my God in his extravagance does not prune the stars.
mary angela douglas 8 january 2023
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