Recurring (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the same dream dreams itself
and percolates along
the grooves that sorrow set
in former
melancholy winter dawns
and everything that's vivid
disappears
into a pale wind tunnel of the years
well, maybe not
I still have some dried flowers I forgot
in vivid blue
pressed in a book of poems I did not
get from you
or someone else
and it's living on my shelf
and it declares
that Christ came like a knight of old
and killed despair
and I believe that dragon sure he slayed
so I will make the best of this dream fogged and sterling,
new scrambled, egg faced day.
mary angela douglas 28 december 2023