every day that I'm moving
i'm moving a little bit more
far from the snowblinding allées
toward an Avalon shore
gone are the old occupations
the circulars from the stores
the food on sale or the afternoon mail
the signs of life on earth
soft as the waves in a dream
farther than moonlight could be
something dissolves the old harbors
something is lost at sea
in the book of revealing
prophets appear to mend
some citrus lovely destination
made to be finished again
only God has the compass
only Christ is the wind
every day I am moving
toward what can never end.
mary angela douglas 13 january 2024
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