To Harold Bloom In The First Spring After Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the angel is the text

you more or less said in your memoir

and some of us are Jacob when we read



and the night is long the outcome uncertain

if only to pull a single golden bead from it all

and then to string a necklace around The Sun



what is reading but breathing

but only to some

who with braille coding fingers

would read if they could

the snowy face of God

and be consoled.



mary angela douglas 20 march 2020