HOW A POEM IS MADE
the inward collapse of an outward certainty
the glaze gives way
so that the white apple trees are suddenly within you
like a field of hidden stars, camera obscura
the Spring day and swaying and you are full of breezes, blossoms:
this then is a poem
the cracking of surfaces
the piecrust broken
the delicious oozing of cherries
mixed in with the melted butter
or on a colder day
the tiny skaters glow within
on a frozen pond
with you as the snow globe
humming the skater's waltz over and over
you just can't help yourself
or sometimes, from the earth arise
in transparencies of Time
a thousand thousand Aprils
and all of them singing.
rhyme past rhyme
this singing mirage
for which I forage.
mary angela douglas 14 october 2021;11 may 2023
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