Imprimatura Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

wrecked gold of the far illuminations
is coming home
and moonlight sunk in

its own mirrors helplessly
I find forever
in the glazed word you speak.

but april blossoms on the wall
when you bind your luckless
clouds together

and you wound nothing.
imprint this with a spendthrift's sigh
with the knowledge that every colour breathes

the rose you gathered as if it were
long-ago

from very Light.

mary angela douglas 31 august 2011