Just out of my reach.

Beckon the words to the edge of my lips.

Interloping intruders:

Bring me there,

Where little beauties

Are spoken in common

Tongues, pains and

Sorrows are swaddled

Away in palm leaf cocoons,

Sunlight splits into seams,

Shining pillars bathing

Undergrowth, coaxing

Worries away.

Bland sheaths of wheat

Aren’t grayed; they show

So thick with gold they

Summon memories of

Ancient greats from the

Collective conscience.

And, at the edge of it all,

Was the one hammock floating

In the light wind, where

I listen to folding waves

Gliding over sand before

The undertow ebbs

Into the turqoise reflection.