Bethel Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I remember my own bethel
A thing impossible, you might say
You think of yourself too highly
But I do. Insignificant as I am
And not a bit prophetic.
The angels coming and going
The rock under my head suddenly softened
As if it had turned to snow
The sudden traffic of angels
In late September
There I remember
Through the leaves illuminated
The ghost of God seemed to speak to me
Filtering words
Like the honey of Time
And consolation
For what had not yet occurred.
mary angela douglas 20 january 2024