Cantabile Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

cantabile if only it could be

singing as only the night air

with the flowers singing and the notes, entwined

unscrolling, silver on the page, the wave that unwinds

like a musicbox for a child's last birthday

in my heart and in my head

asking nothing more cantabile, nothing said

nothing more than singing

the lark to the moon

the cloud to the tree, elegiac, premonitory

the wind the wind to the serengeti

or rising just a little like the seas

in the ancient fairytale

before the kingdom slips into the foam.

mary angela douglas 4 june 2023