again, for ilya
(kabakov, with emilia)
on a train with no station
try to move into a future
where the colours are fresh
umitigated
or variations on the cloth of gold
or off a balcony not seen before
a nose dive by a sudden angel
escaping the loveliest of traps
you have laid for them all
will light be seen this way then?
do you see light this way now
that you have departed?
no longer in need of trains or of transit
or blind critics.
missing friends.
light as the fireflies.
farther away.
mary angela douglas 8 june 2023
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