RECENTLY, THIS LETTER TO SHALLOTT (FINAL VERSION)

 

I sought the courtly world but it had vanished.

behind the curtains of uncertain dawns

I stood, the unappointed lookout, looking on:

gone were the purple banners and the gold

banishing of the small fears

held aloft at the parades

and decked in flowers.

I stood amazed and soundless then for hours;

the battles I thought over, veering

back, shone illimitably:

in the Pageant of everything unwon.

fresh rains have washed the back roads in the sun

while I scoop rainbows from the clouds...

they’re falling away like leaves in the last

horrific winds before the calm,

but not taking me with them:

the years that no mirage sustained.

and through no haze I contemplate again

the debut in the perfect white dress

the embroidered handkerchief bestowed

the golden task importunate

that only God knows.

I am seeking my lost King, the corner of a last word-

tranquil, folded down;

and reverence linked with song oh, long ago

left for dead.

knowing that I may find instead

ruined cornices dripping icicles before spring…

and these few winter roses for a crown;

more than enough to live.

my mute processions I have gathered tenderly

in the emerald shade of God.

oh let the lights shine down on Camelot renewed,

confessed in these late dreams without regret.

let knights be true.

and constancy the only jewel

though held aloft in the final verse

by fingers this absurdly frail still weeping snow

above the apparent waters of the town.

mary angela douglas 19, 21 may 2012;2 november 2021

I sought the courtly world but it had vanished.

behind the curtains of uncertain dawns

I stood, the unappointed lookout, looking on:

gone were the purple banners and the gold

banishing of the small fears

held aloft at the parades

and decked in flowers.

I stood amazed and soundless then for hours;

the battles I thought over, veering

back, shone illimitably:

in the Pageant of everything unwon.

fresh rains have washed the back roads in the sun

while I scoop rainbows from the clouds...

they’re falling away like leaves in the last

horrific winds before the calm,

but not taking me with them:

the years that no mirage sustained.

and through no haze I contemplate again

the debut in the perfect white dress

the embroidered handkerchief bestowed

the golden task importunate

that only God knows.

I am seeking my lost King, the corner of a last word-

tranquil, folded down;

and reverence linked with song oh, long ago

left for dead.

knowing that I may find instead

ruined cornices dripping icicles before spring…

and these few winter roses for a crown;

more than enough to live.

my mute processions I have gathered tenderly

in the emerald shade of God.

oh let the lights shine down on Camelot renewed,

confessed in these late dreams without regret.

let knights be true.

and constancy the only jewel

though held aloft in the final verse

by fingers this absurdly frail still weeping snow

above the apparent waters of the town.

mary angela douglas 19, 21 may 2012;2 november 2021