STORIES THAT TRAIL OFF INTO THE MISTS (FINAL VERSION)

I favor the stories that trail off into the mists

like vague Queens drifting with their illusory trains

and nothing lost and nothing gained discernibly

for the Princess sighs: how tiresome to be

always spelling it out for the jugglers who

may die at sunrise with the wrong riddle answered

or the picture puzzle that shows only

the small winter birds picking at the glaze on the puddles

as though seeking silver cherries from those boughs

in the pavement mirrored

what we shall call it, the need for mystery

for even the snails to turn out golden by THE END

or just pretend you don't know when called on in class

if the chords ever resolved;and did the clouds move on?

or what it feels like in dreams to be stranded

waking up suddenly at an outside truck

shifting gears

a dog barking pompously on the lawn

because it cannot fetch the moon

or eat at table with a silver spoon and

which one DO you use when you've only paws..

let us pause to consider

who wants a predictable predictable

when everything in us is a search for the vanishing

play on Fra Angelico assuming the roles of azure and

rose in Time's millennial bowers,

bloom. and we will leave you there

where all ties sever

spinning no gold into srraw forever.

mary angela douglas 19 february 2022;15 march 2023