IT ISN'T SO MUCH MAGIC, AS IT IS BEAUTY

it isn't so much magic as it is, beauty
she said to herself coming upon the scene suddenly:
the unexpected snowfalls, the lemon leaf reigning

then falling at your feet and the sweep of it
the panorama close at hand.
how can I let you understand that this is

something dreamed yet wide awake.
a flaking of stars; transpositions of where you are
to where you could never be, had never been.

and this is mystery and the red rose gathered and
still rooted in the ground and the lost and found, the when
of every childhood minute you gazed at the sky

willing the clouds to stay

not so much wondering
as dreaming, why
can't they?

mary angela douglas 15 april 2016