the wind breaks high above the seas
that once were dust so long ago
and all we love must gather speed
to indicate the future snows
oh formerly golden
cape or horn
on maps we follow
not any more
we shall the angels all implore
in hushed syllables
far from land.
for those who later
may understand.
and intercept our ghost shipped cries
time lapse, roses, rains sweep through
enchanted continents may fuse
in our imaginations grazed
by the salient, silvered restive moons
when poetry was still untuned
irradiant, spyglassed afternoons.
the seas, filled up with clouds.
mary angela douglas 13 june 2023,
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