snow has fallen on a distant planet
for a while, an Age or two
no one will go sledding there
make snowberry jam for lost picnics
that is a thing I would like to do
only in imagination's dower
to visit there the blue cold hills
where it is very still
with no wilting summers
no special performances
of gold
falling off the rim
richly onto my mosaic's floor
colouring the frescoes in
for an Age or two,
forgetting what you knew
of the moon with its halo
of the planet where it is always snowing
and no words melt not being spoken
in the first place
such a quiet
where you may finally
get some rest.
where what is unexpressed
is jeweled.
mary angela douglas 5 may 2023
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