TO BE SUNG IN WHITE TULLE, SILVER-SEQUINED

the king mislaid his
blueprints for the stars
and cries at night

into his golden shadow

lost courtiers kneel
before the showcase cakes

little children may not eat

no matter how long they say
they are sorry

that the toeshoe, thistledown moon

is slipping farther every day
down the rimed rose campion

windows of the castle.

but they will keep their
diamond latchkeys safe

at this rhapsodic distance from the sun-

from the sparklers' fizzy dreaming at the end-
from that last summer-

and bless - and bless-

eternal lily snows on the fleeting ground

mary angela douglas 25 may 2011