Where Ships Return ....
With these escaping fragments, place them in harbors....
where ships return with future possibilities.....
Light house beacons that docks castaways....
on sandy beaches where there is a fair sky mirror.....
The possibility of these rising cliffs ....
green lagoons of childhood lost sea horses,....
broken ships decks, pink corals, sandy crabs,....
loud distance conches, violet swirled shells. ....
In the dark brown bamboo hut where....
laying there in moments that are hours.....
A fresh sunlit room speaks for itself,....
a room of rainy languid showers....
as spirited ghost dance their forgotten history.....
opening and closing of doors, feeling space.....
To know the possibility of islands....
and far stretches of the tumultuous horizons. ....
Knowing the long corridors of voices and chords....
strung down empty candle lighted halls, ....
as trumpets blare out over the orchestra of viols.....
This is the bare heart fulfilling water wheel,....
in light filled breathings ~ writing on empty tables,....
sequence toward no failures, in dark apertures of rain.....
A folded chair beside umbrella, bag with fountains pens,....
folders of sheets and three classics, writing on the sandy....
waves, star of the noon breeze ~ perfumed horizon.....
Children’s laughter amidst the sandcastles, orange blaze....
of sun, indigo sleepy night fading sound traffic....
Water timbre spoken to the talisman of dreams,....
waiting in anxious surprises in cool room flowing daze. ....
