They Do Not Mean The Things They Almost Say To You Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

they do not mean the things they almost say
to you, sighed the wind and rippled the pond
and branched soft snows on a winter day.

oh early or late the
sun shone a silver medallion
or a coin. what will I spend it on? she queried

the small birds glazing over while the moon blanched.

it is dim to remember in this white twilight,
rose gardens, rose by rose. I will depart.
and the wind grew cold. almost, distance itself.

rose by rose heaped up the sudden goodbyes
not gradually at all as it had been in books.
and you in a pale shawl, always hurrying.

they dipped, they froze like that,
thinking they were music.
as you crossed town

not knowing you won't come back.

through in your faded violet, in the far years
you won't be forlorn, then,
whispered the years.

then she was comforted.

mary angela douglas 8 may 2015; 16 march 2016