To Ray Bradbury, Six Years Gone Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

let me braid in forget me not blue
fire balloons to the tune of You though
maybe we speak of you too much

those of us who read you extravagantly
in some dream summons to life
with each page poured over, each page turned down still,

the magic foundry still going, tangerine glowing
in the few years since you've been gone.
not wanting to lose the day and fearing the night

we plunge on in beatific reminiscence
when we should just take flight; when
what we should do is just live

as if we were made of the sun
that honeycombed sphere
and the zenith still clear

and write, o write the page of gold o
live! I seem to hear you say

as if it were ever August in brocades
with the grass of eternities before you
the windows far flung while the wind says

never out of breath
come, Yea come, elusively
berry stained and unrestrained

in the green glad praise of God,
red clover proud and sweet.
raspberry replate

the race before you lies, even autumn at the verge
still incomplete
the all out of doors rapture of: we're on our way, pounding

in fresh, unboxed tennis shoes, we ARE
some remnant of the cloudless day,
neon colours and the bests of

and all the marvels out there.
and everything to love:
don't be old, I hear you say, be

newer day by day.and braver.
let all the dandelion hours accrue
into a vintage so rich the wish for time,

more time,
comes true...

mary angela douglas 28 april 2018