The Map Is A Mist; You Have To Know That (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the map is a mist; you have to know that first
frail as parasol paper could be
in a flood.

she raised flowers in the mud for a while
and was happy;
at home with paper lanterns;
peach iced tea.

are there fractures in these ash of gold skies?
I used to wonder
walking in November,

the lakeshore like a toy.
the map is a mist and cannot resist
the old names.

I cannot find them there
with my torn out page
from the directory of roses.

it's so multifoliate,
the Rose, the way she thought of it
then

no composer could compose it.
and I have only the mists to go by.
the shoreline indefinable

snow on snow, blizzards of music
rift of my dreaming mind
what was I hoping, singing to find
inscrutable as lost time.

mary angela douglas 19 december 2015; 10 december 2023