things that remain:
the recollection of the rain,
the sun through the screen door.
the exhilaration of snow and more,
the blue trace of it on the air
the leaves when they fall
after turning to gold oh everywhere
strange alchemies rewound
the momentary flicker of
pink birthday candles
and the scent of wax
mingled with wishing
the Christmas stocking
Orange of all oranges
and peppermint
the waylaid Star
the continent of the heart
that cannot break apart
memorizing these
mary angela douglas 28 september 2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The blue trace! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
You are welcome. You know how especially in childhood you can actually smell snow in the air even before it starts? That's what I meant by the blue trace. Thank you for noticing that trace.