RECURRING

 

the same dream dreams itself

and percolates along

the grooves that sorrow set

in former

melancholy winter dawns

and everything that’s vivid

disappears

into a pale wind tunnel of the years

well, maybe not

I still have some dried flowers I forgot

in vivid blue

pressed in a book of poems I did not

get from you

or someone else

and it’s living on my shelf

and it declares

that Christ came like a knight of old

and killed despair

and I believe that dragon sure he slayed

so I will make the best of this dream fogged and sterling,

new scrambled, egg faced day.

mary angela douglas 28 december 2023