Just The Moon When It Rises Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

what if there were poetry with no prizes

just the moon when it rises

no critical surmises

just the birds, singing

just the birds singing and the leaves drifting

just the stars shining far out on their own

just the breath and the sudden intake,

all your rowing,

going home.

just the word softly spoken

into a light no one can see

just the trip out on a limb

only the hidden mystery

just the song without imposing

just the play without it closing

fine embroidery out at sea

wave to wave

and free as free

just the feeling;

not the fee.

mary angela douglas 9 may 2020