GREEN VIOLIN

 

green violins are drifting near the sun

I think of clouds as Marc Chagall

tipping his thick fingerpaint colors

over.

it runs together in my mind

with oil-spun opals on the concrete

or mirrored puddles I walk by-

concocting always other skies.

and Bella, with hidden lilies in her eyes

composed and bridal as before

and the confetti roses raining.

and rising over rooftops after rain

is a corsage of lilac...

her last tear.

it's living through these shifting rainbows here

springing up again - I know that

I'll survive:

holding my pitcher's terra cotta

up to the fountaining sky-

reading the holograph upside down while

hoping to catch one green violin

with spiraling music rose rose red

or the flowing parachute moon

as it sails down

the clockface of the clotted

clouds and citadel,

dissolving;

the sequined-velvet pear just ripe

from ever and ever the

tree of night

and sewn like a charm

at riddle's end unraveling,

shaken out of a dream you

won't remember

you'll be reminded

by a torn-out scrap

so evident to you then

as the tear-stained apple-green scrawl

of the Pirate's best hand with

one tiny diadem's cornered clue remaining:

for the almost perfect fingering of the blue viola-

or a single silver day-

mary angela douglas 28 october 2010