I have friends in a box.
beneath a screen.
I think I have.
I tap on the blue blue glass
as if it were the sky
summoning angels.
the things I say are kept by clouds;
don't drift away!
I have worlds under glass
awake when I'm asleep
long past the meridians
of what used to be called
dreams; (or countries) , my
houses with no furniture.
drawers I can't open.
letters I'll never tie
with a green silk ribbon.
much at arms length
rich as a click away.
yet sometimes I wonder
if on a winter's day, alone at the bus stop
I suddenly decide to sing the way I used to
will there still be clouds in the air?
mary angela douglas 5 december 2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem