the beautiful evening at the end of the world
I try to imagine it, the skies turning orchid
the elegant gathering on the terraces to watch the summer constellations; little girls staying up late in fresh
pique, pink or green or blue
or gazing at the moon as though it would never be enough
gazing
there could never be enough gazing to see it in the way that
it shone and who lit the lantern then, was it Rousseau
you can see the poem would flow better in French
except that I know that lantern, the silver on was lit by God
as well as the daylight sun, his golden one
they are a matched set though in the beautiful evening only
one is visible depending on the angle of clouds or if suddenly
you should brush the mist from your eyes
at the thought of leaving
the beautiful earth on the beautiful evening
how I would like to be by the side of the house I grew up in
near the gardenias and the skies so thick with stars as they were
back then
I would say another word to God such as oh let there be gardenias in
Heaven
the music of Ravel, of Debussy's cathedral
submerged again in music
in music that never ends.
and the houses lit within.
mary angela douglas 11 june 2021
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem