Conversations Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

Here in between the folds of mountains and valleys of
the papier mache maps we made in school
I suddenly find in memory's store
such tremulous conversations
I cannot butterfly pin down or word for word imply
The golden threads of them
Hearts miasma oh let us dial back
The sun dial shadows no longer telling time under the shade trees and
Only slightly sparkling to indicate the snow capped
Conversations of what we would do instead
If the most wondrous things turned out to be true
And in our words seemed woven the gold and the blue
Of echoing angels
Why try to explain the miraculous
Just let yourself in with the passkey from God
Tread softly on the moss floors
Examine the walls of milky quartz
Live under the rain proof roof of imaginations dower
We did and spoke for hours and hours.
While God listened in with his peony skies
And the clouds above us grew spangled.
The nights so breathlessly calm.
mary angela douglas 12 may 2024