To The Russian Poets Under Certain Conditions Unspecified Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

were we made of clouds, that suddenly we could not be found

or of the mist that rises from the bitter ground

were we visited by angels only


or stowed in a painting all blues and greens

by Rublev or


hard as stone in the quarry of

an unremitting cold.


who is there to respond.

to speak to us in amber

or to take on the case.


were we members of the human race.


who could spell our story.

we were poets residing in the visionary


beyond contempt.


and so, they hated us


consigning us to quarters.

we never could have imagined

were we mist were we the rains


evaporated entirely the last train out

or something else, regained

something kin to the soul


that outlasts everything.


mary angela douglas 4 november 2019