This April Branching In An Oft Trod Dream Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

this April branching in an oft trod dream

I seem to catch in the rushing of waters over stone

as I wander on and as the moon


lifts the latch on the house of night.

when in flight though from whom I cannot tell

I cast no magic spell but find in the petals


lifted from the trees a flower light

I know I dreamed before.

how shall I knock at the door ofGod


all else being starlight and I so poorly shod

when walking is weeping and I cannot tell the way

ahead from the road behind.


these questions border on the attic mind

sorting through silks and odd letters

the scent of brine though there is no sea


no inkling of the me I may have been

or was, parting the grasses on either side

as if I were a wind


still, floating on invisible tides

ruffling the surface honor of things

I cannot, will not name.


mary angela douglas 2 april 2020