The Dream Of The Indigo Trails Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

to the Russian poets forever and ever...


these indigo trails through snow melted in the spring;
the early spring, the thaw of their lost pages.
what can we say who gathered them there

too many ages later
as if they were flowers, our hands sharp with cold.
these were their lost words their last-

written in frost

bound in no libraries-
here beneath the frozen skies:
last ink. snow paper;

no one coming back to rescue...

nearby the small tracks of the larks, the thrush
beside their half dissolving shine
as if in sympathy. Divine

mary angela douglas 10 october 2014