Image result for two in the woods in renaissance painting

The more she lets herself be confined,

The more she rejects herself in her mind.

The more her confinement she knows,

The more carefully she goes,

And takes such painful care

To see that she’s not there,

That when she happens to appear,

Fear she has married fears her fear,

And the dread and sad confinement

She loves becomes more dear.

She wisely goes where she is going,

Her old wisdom knowing where we went,

Avoiding places with memories of me,

Who wrote places for her, in poetry.

She knows confinement is unknowing,

A convent to her religiosity,

The virgin renouncing knowledge of me,

Dreaming where she knows I could be.

From all movement she removes

Movements we shared—

And her confinement proves

We roamed the world together,

When I cared for her—but she never cared.




1 Comment

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    August 9, 2018 at 8:03 am


    the mind was filled with clouds, angels, harps
    with vintage valentines, while waiting in line
    or for the next blow

    the mind below deck was calm and through the portholes
    chose the amethyst seas.
    do you remember these?

    and children, staring at the lights
    saw faery wings.
    it wasn’t so long ago.

    you brushed the snow off their carcoats
    so Christmas could begin.
    oh lost and the stained glass broken

    where the thieves broke in
    to steal the magnitude of stars
    remember Whose you are

    and do not sin
    by counting those more settled than you are.
    your mind fills up with wings with Florentine things

    with advents of the brightest kind.
    and there’s still time
    before you go.

    for evermore dreaming.
    beyond all the seeming

    mary angela douglas 9 august 2018

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