Return Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

Sometimes I feel the clock of earth
Gets dizzy, forgets its place in the music
And I wake to see the dense fogs settling
Or the clouds in cirrus gold edged display
As if this were another calendar day
In some distant century and I want all of a sudden
To read only 19th century novels or poetry
To find fresh violets pressed in a volume with an odor of sanctity
Fresh as that Spring from a vanished chapel gathered
Still purpled, light blue as canticles sung by the saints
Only recently
To expect the sound of carriages in the streets
And faintly to feel as though something extremely magical
Had occurred
To feel my soul as if it were distinct from all the Ages
Already beyond Time, incapable of a prosaic return.
Mary angela douglas 28 january 2024