ENCOMPASSED
West of tears we had buried our hearts
In fine soil as in the ancient myths
North of our devastations
We had lived for Art
Rehearsing the ghostlike declamations
South of all roses, in a blooming land
I dreamed God carried us in His hands
And east of all dreams in the end it seemed
That all of time was just one gleam.
mary angela douglas 8 july 2024
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