Voices on the Wind
Voices on Relaxation
by Mike Bayles
The stream that runs through the cornfields does not have a name.
The cornfields are an ocean, groves of trees are islands.
Passing clouds show as puppets of our imagination.
A biplane passing overhead, dances with the sky.
Its sound drones through the valley.
Birds sing in the morning from unknown locations.
People winding along the highway seek their time and place.
They look at the sun and call their gods.
Workers weave streams of asphalt into old pavement, and traffic pauses.
The morning is the beginning of a new story.
The passing day weaves itself into memories as we seek our endings.