Just out of my reach. Beckon the words to the edge of my lips.

Interloping thoughts: 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.