A different kind of reading I tried to fetch
no fool’s gold from the remnants but the beloved passages
in old books
charactry of the stars or the least of the showers of
meteors so
easily projected on the screen of the mind
when pin pricks there where the silver foil shows through
in my dream project for school simulate in partial eclipses
always
those sweet disruptions in Heaven
lost o lost the magic lanterns now
what is now
the books hold still the maps from ramen noodle here to
transcendent there
if you can trace the sepia of it all on your tracing paper
stuck in the hobbies you had so gloriously
when you were twelve years old
what is all this I hear the Giant fume
creaking down his crooked ladder from the folktale sky
while I in the vestiges of afternoon
from the heirloom rose garden I would live in
or I would try
In a pink dress with a parasol from my sister, I
come up with no replies
but he resumes like zig zag lightning
in old cartoons surprising me at my rest
you don’t know poetry
at all he jests
I look at him and sigh it all away
who can put it into words today
must know as has been noted before
the language of the birds, forgotten lore
and mother of pearl,
the pearl swans lifting, leaving home;
what seemed to be, illusory
below them in the truculent seas.
mary angela douglas 25 november 2023
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