we wished for a coherent life coherent as sunlight
that and a castle of spun glass:
very little coheres in advancing years
we only imagine life makes a narrative
there are only brief passages
illumined in Heavenly light
simpletons at the Fair
a cow exchanged for the magic beans
an apple green dress in the Spring
the rest is tedium or war say those
who ignore roses and stars, hyacinths
but tend to keep score
on anguish or mopping up the floor
after history's lunatics tramp in
the dirt
yet there are flowers
there are larks
there is the glissando of harps
an impulse toward Song:
there is honey for the tea
and the possibility to be
at any age what you dreamed of
when you were three; there is
the Ark of the Covenant
the heart that goes on,
drenched in opals
after the Flood.
mary angela douglas 4 january 2022;25 march 2023
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