The Capital By Late Moonlight

clocking through the metro turnstiles

I went further than expected

happy on the pavements near

the flowering cherry; the embassies

of few charities. on the way to see Monet.

marble at midnight glows 

as if each building were a moon.

are we really this planet dreamily

I mused;the working day sped ahead

and political conjecture.

yellow leaves came down

annointing the matinees, ballets

I survived to see.

and turning through the turnstile

once again through crowds perfecting

professional repartee

ah still I only see

Spring petaling the pavements

colonizing the moons.

mary angela douglas 7 march 2015

I Held Fast To The Cherry Branching Skies

I held fast to the cherry branching skies

even when the earth slipped, the angels

vaulted over the unseen banisters.

they lay on earth dissembled, and starlight

was chipped and I heard the broken glass

of far away sighs that some called music.

all this has passed except for the museums

where long ago springs remain you can see any Sunday

settling down with your coffee and biscotti

they are painted in

sweet greens and blues in a sunlight that

cannot fade in the gardens to which

we can never return, you know,

in the same way.

I have made much of  the cherry branching skies.

staying afloat in this way.

painting over the livid lightening of the storms.

the steaming fissures in the sidewalks.

mary angela douglas 31 january 2015