in the closet with His peach sunsets
I hid my words.
they were young:
a flourish of pale green leaves.
they couldn't understand yet
the gunfire of simple
conversations.
in the closet with His provisionary
angels far from the alarms
I hid my silences.
they were already
like snow before it falls
on a stony landscape
all that they could ever be
at the beginning of glistening
mary angela douglas 17 august 2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem