In The Tower Of The Perishing Imaginations (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I dreamed of colours
falling through my hands of
signs and symbols
beauteous beyond description

and fruit sailed to the ground in
clear profusion
in a wind of sparkles
puffed out by the angels
in four-cornered maps.

where are the gatherers gathering
I cried
outside the fate of the sports arena or
the charming cafe with its pale pastries,

light as angel's breath beyond frosted glass-
doing brisk business
I couldn't afford.

Beauty's trapped like the princess
in the tower
I remarked to no one caring-
-where?
in the tower of the
perishing imaginations

-So?

then who'll be there
to take the last stitch unde
so the ruby strawberry
stands out against its
field of matchless snow
in Desdemona's handkerchief?

the painter deprived of light
the poet without music
carried on anyway-
in every camp in every secret cell

in every annex under the vari-coloured
stumping boots of history's trolls
and landlords-

or under the nose of nosy neighbors
taking notes
jabbing their heirloom pin-cushions full
with the sharp-pin question, 'Why? '
and stirring their coffee klatch sugared coffee
a little harder
than was necessary.

but theirs was not my question -
mine was 'how? '
and I died happy
on a lilliputian sword
run through with the rainbow riddle
of it all:

they built their ships of unearthly gold
for others to sail-
even while going down for the third time-

mary angela douglas 12 july 2010