I, FRESH WITH MIRACLES LIKE THE GRASS BEDEWED

 

I, FRESH WITH MIRACLES LIKE THE GRASS BEDEWED

I fresh with miracles like the grass bedewed

Oh that I could warble the skies into orchid,

Snows, the pearlescent where

All quiet grows

And find shelter in my own construction,

Dream oh dream the mariners cried

On the ancient oceans

And I heard them

Fathoms below my soul’s surface

And keep in silence still

For all I know

The pale green vigil

I knew long ago

At home, under the summer trees.

mary angela douglas 19 july 2024