I want to study the history of dreams
Dreams as they came to me
Half melted in sunlight
Buttercup strewn in early Junes
On the thin dime of a realm
I want to study war as a figment
Empires made of snows
Freshwater wishing wells
Passing away as unnecessary
Only us melting over The door jamb of dreams
Early or late
Someone else is at the gate
With a bouquet of multicoloured
Paper flowers or parcels
Of pink candy
And childrens silhouetttes
Traced on brown paper
Your height in the shadow
Marked on the wall
One pristine plaster cast of your four year old hand
That is crumbling into the dust of rubies
Even before this poem comes,
As in music in the chromatic romantic West
To a full
Stop.
Or lingers in the concert hall
When the purple doors of its early twilight
Close.
mary angela douglas 8 may 2024
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem