Losing the trail to the sun again, I cry
tears in the appling orchards frozen over
where have I hid from myself
the paling summers
swift are the time lapsed clouds above me
they drift in the wounded colour wheels and in their tapering off
I mourn for
earth as seen from space
no longer a wonder
factions fight and splinter the constellations
we were not born for all this consternation
beyond my sight, the tree lines’ demarcations
shade into darkening green and then are gone.
how have we become such a desultory nation
where have we left our souls and why so wan
have the captains abandoned their given stations.
eating the last of the feast I wonder why
God in his nearness cannot get from us
a single valid reason why
we think we made the world ourselves;
when the evidence pales
and evening falls
I will say my prayers, keel haul these shadows from the walls
Believe in spring again, springtide, after all deny
this uttermost drought of dreams feigned normalcy
and stutter the high winds into beauty reclaimed.
mary angela douglas 18 december 2023
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