On How A Poem Is Made Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

to mine the honey of words; to turn light on the spindle
the secret is to dream the light; the key
to be conscious of light at all depths
the bells wept seeking the drowned angels
farther from land now than it is possible to be and then
to gleam green on the instant and sparkle into the fade
of all things made to become the hum of bees
and the honey of the hive
orange blossom, acacia, to sense afar
the ruby tears of Mars, tin soldier, heart of lead to
turn the key instead
in the impenetrable lock of time beyond all wars, the scars
of the eternities to mind the honey of the hive of words
as if it were the dress you wore sky blue as the summer day,
lightly, thinking little of yourself but for
the last prayer prayed, the last thing said
straying from the field
for the living and the dead.
mary angela douglas 15 november 2021