Grass is a taut crew;
They stand at attention
As soldiers do
With orders from the sun –
Never having thoughts
That their purpose is trite
Or any nagging doubts
Or need of strife.
How admirable their rank –
How exemplary their queue –
I whispered to one blade –
Living as they do.
A dream is a butterfly
Fresh from the cocoon
That is realized and soon
Flutters up into the sky
Or faltering, goes astray
Is suddenly killed
While young still
And fast fades away.
Come and find me in this garden;
I know not where the hours go.
Palm fronds brush against my cheek –
Lone toadstool, blush of mallow.
They say this is the Garden of Eden –
Rocks of lichen, red yucca.
But I think this is probably heaven –
Birds-of-paradise and vinca.
You will find here a green shelter;
Shade fills the inner sanctuary.
Canaries whistle o'er yonder –
Dew drops on a banana leaf.
Let's be as kids like we once were;
Take my hand, let's go find its end.
On Havana's white shore –
With each salt-infused whirl
That agitates its border –
Every sand is a potential pearl.
I know a place of silence
Where one can roam about -
Touch the height of peace
And watch the morning crown.
It's a place well-hidden -
Where no worry survives -
Where no thoughts break in
And living hope abides -
Where seraphs may be found
And joy is my raiment -
Where clouds meet the ground
And keep the dewy haven.
It's under mesquite trees -
Over their medusan roots
And in mellow sun rays
And their assuring proofs.
It's by the pale mescals -
Under some tender stalk -
Between granite boulders
Love is many, Water is many
And flows aplenty
But Fire is one
And consumes until gone
All but purity.
If to each other we belong
And we’re to stay strong
Then feel the fever
And douse with ether;
Purify the bond.
The wind hears many secrets
As he blows at his election.
Only a hearer at best –
He mulls them over and again
But doesn’t repeat or think aloud
For there are too many to recount.
The wind also has many lovers –
Appreciating the trees –
Caressing the flowers
And cooling warm cheeks
But preferring to roam –
Blows away to a place unknown.
A wider landscape I see beyond;
It beckons to me from afar.
The land has a kaleidoscope dawn
And many wonders that lay beyond.
Run your hands over its grasses blonde;
Catch a whiff of its sacred rose attar.
To a kinder landscape I go beyond;
Someday it will beckon no more.
Out there,
in the dark between trees,
the owl calls—
low, deliberate,
like he’s naming something
he hopes still hears him.
No answer.
Just the echo
folding in on itself.
I lie still,
listening.
Not to the sound,
but the pause that follows—
wide as the sky
and lonelier.
He calls again,
less certain this time.
And somehow,
sleep comes.
Not with comfort,
but with the ache
of knowing
I’m not the only one
calling into the dark
hoping something
will call back.
Let a child’s gleaming face
be that kaleidoscope,
of blue sea pearl ripples,
spreading green tides of hope,
to dry land hearts in drought
craving tot’s tears to cope