CIRCUMVENTION

 

CIRCUMVENTION

Sometimes I wonder

If the guardian angels of artists

At times hijack the work of art that is turning morose

And tilt it toward the Light laughing

So that suddenly leaden skies over looking the city

Flame up all cerise roses

I don’t know what happened

The artist will say, sing, paint, write, explain

I know I was seeing it all in black and white

But the film came out in colour

Water into wine, sunken into climbed

Elegy on the street converted to hands in the air Praise

When the music skips a beat

And the children start dancing

In the summer sprinklers

All crowned with purple clover from the vacant lots.

mary angela douglas 23 june 2024