A Single Blackbird (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

not that far off the ground
our hearts won't fail us
striving to be clouds or cherubs
even when the margins don't align
and the typewriter bell I miss
the ghosts of the scribes haven't even heard of this
and birds fly off to be other golden glosses
through the flowered borders of my illuminated dream
red and green, and blue and curlicued.
blue and gold flourishes in medieval calligraphy
what is this wizadry legend has it an anonymous monk
drew a single blackbird in the margin probably on some april day
when his mind wandered at the birdsong out the cloister window
upon the cream coloured morning
though from the high tower the trumpets of the Invisible
warn:
cold ships are on the way, the long boats
still it is still in
the almost festive cell
today as yesterday
the cold ships on the way notwithstanding
as though it were the First Dawn.
and you, the First Scribe of it all
silent as snow on a vast page, immutable.

mary angela douglas 1 january 2022; 29 january 2022; 27 march 2023