the fairytale deepened
like a color in the sky
like your Face half-caught
in a clear crescent of rose.
a clearly eternal descant
on the descent of afternoon
the otherwhereness of You, oh Most High.
brushing the gold off a butterfly wing,
I turn to revere You:
before night vision impairs me
mary angela douglas 30 july 2001; 28 september 2023
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem