THE FABLE REPRISED (REVISED)

 

and to Hans Christian Andersen...

 

I sing of the fabled nightingale in the fable of the fable

of the day before

light entered the picture

light entered the picture and colours were born

and each note was a colour and a lantern we held up

to illumine the bruised shadows. to say beyond what can be

said:

are you weary?

I sing of the nightingale in the last fable of the world

though how could it know its candor was a prelude

to the shifting of all dreams, reality, exquisitely

the little children sucking on sugar candies

all murmurings in the bruised shadows are

language falling apart oh my heart my heart

still it sang of a coolness reprieved

and anguish paused for an instant and listened

and the heart in its cove listened

it sang in the white rosed gardens

under the Emperor's window

where the shade was drawn

against all starlight

and each star was a tear behind a lilac cloud

a child crayoned in on a lilac wind

and each lilac was a cloud come to fruition

and I caught the lilacs in the parting night

and Spring at its onset and yet not a bridal bouquet was

the end of all worlds or one world

where the white roses have come to me unfolding petal by petal

their prophetic sadness with no more reasons to resume

then suddenly the ancient faults shifted

then suddenly the ancient wave arose

uprearing its curling blues and greens

its jade shadows on the foretelling ink blocks

music like this was never composed

rose upon rose in the deepening darkness

the nightingale song arose at the point of death

into the zenith of everything

Holy God for a moment closed His eyes

and I saw it all in the final mirrors

and heard the Nightingale's cry

and all colors descended into their blind goodbyes

and all dreams were shut up like a most elaborate fan

all the clamouring.

and singing infinite singing echoed on-

in the Borderlands.

mary angela douglas 1 september 2022;27 february 2023