COTILLION

 

we will scoop up the moonlight so that our

lamps won't go out

and leave every night surreptitious as the

seas

twelve princesses at our ease

at our own cotillion.

and we are breathing lilies lightly

rosebuds on our wrists slipped from the tower

in love with mists and our own dower

insignia of the rose we are those

who wore out their embroidered slippers

nightly

waltzing in twilight blue dungeons.

we will cross the lake making no mistake

do not follow after; 

spy on our sequined laughter

like Amy Lowell's "Opal", darling-diaphonous, 

shimmering with one thousand radiances, hidden

shot silk, and brimming with mirage-

and pinned like a corsage or flung carelessly

a glittering shawl

in our illusory wake

all the colours in the lake

the trees will glow concealing

all we know

to wake drowsily farther on

in a faun coloured dawn

we won't grow old or waited on

let us have our few white nights

on the shores of Spring still fair

our stephanotis and our stars

in the dreaming everywhere

far jasmine and the sandalwood

fish not caught, swimming in amethyst, 

we won't be missed or understood.

rose and briar in the wood

the branching dancing

of an hour.

sifting through Infinity

in our own vicinity.

mary angela douglas 22 november 2018; rev.25 january 2019