ghost forests rose in a dream
lichen and moss and the little streams
a pale light was drifting through
all of the trees that you knew
in a smoke blue afternoon
and the tang of the air
the tang of the stars were everywhere
though not discerned.
I sat there quite alone
on a rust and cobalt stone
on slate from a crumbling stair
on a tree stump with broad leaves
and listened to an aeolian breeze
and thought of life and the world to come
of the days when the trees were tipped with flame
and then they gave me back my name.
mary angela douglas 9 july 2023
No comments:
Post a Comment