Mary Angela Douglas
THE LETTER YOU WRITE TO THE END OF THE WORLD
the letter you write to the end of the world: let it be painted in gold on the eyelash of a second
or carved in pink marble as upon an april sky; or in silver pointed flame,
not ever to die, in colours of rain, yet not be washed away.
or threaded through Christmas Eve
the first time you believed on earth, in tinsel typography sparkling and sparkling; collapsing the parabolas of the soul
when it wept moonlight, vanishing, remember? O to resemble the toy most loved in childhood with its rainbow rings so self-contained
or with little bells attached that someone may be made merry. or let it taste like cherries on pineapple sundaes
especially, if on a Monday, it becomes necessary to not show up for work; let us all shirk then with the angels the perfunctory, facing the sea surge,
mystically brave: the last of the strawberrie sugared;
breaking out new parasols for the occasion leaving our antiphons half unfinished or sending it: the soul, the letter, the recipie on ahead of us
wrapped in a silken envelope to sail above all destined gales into the milk pearl galaxies like the necklace