CONFESSIONS AMONG THE JEWELED

these are the vials for sunsets, evening stars
the curious peddlar cried; the antique dealer
with his camera obscura obscured.

and have you quarried rubies from roses,
emeralds from the trees in the jewelry box
of His worlds?

or is it the other way round
you must, you must turn
in the common round

with your new kaleidoscope
fresh from its Christmas wrappings.

we whirled on, my heart and I
and reveries returned I'd not been
scolded for, in the past

because they didn't know,
did they, sans and sans the Looking Glass
the entire time my eyes were fixed

in the rows on rows (on "today's lesson!, class")

I was thinking only of this.

mary angela douglas 5 september 2015