working through these endless
inquisitions, I leaned my
cheek against my hand I
dreamed of your absconded kingdoms.
I walked on clouds
losing ground before your
last appearance; I renounced
the court astronomers, those
managers of light disparaging
the sun of Your heart in mine
so bright
so bright and so
incapable of being bought off.
mary angela douglas 29 march 2002; 28 september 2023
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem