In The Dream Of The Seventh Willow Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

{enter, Desdemona, singing}

lost in the dream of the seventh willow
where was her testament of flowers, she mused
o is song strewn now

between waking and sleeping;
the country we longed for-
and the green willow?

the garland of snow.
she was in the dream of the
seventh willow and could not know

singing her interrupted song
as we knew.
the audience is always quiet then.

the student in the Library
coming upon clear song
and the breeze lifts only slightly

the willow trees' fronds o willow,
the sweet air rings
while unconfined-

beyond distress- all precognition, now
must be out there already
building the gilded monuments;

still, this does not come to pass.

but we. but we renew the matinees' weeping
clued in to the Last;
to the silver; to the grass green ribbons fluttering;

the bleached pearl of the moon as
tuned through luxuriant windows
configuring these torn shadows

the scene sings willow
and willow and willow
in the seventh dream

mary angela douglas 22 october 2014