Voices on the Wind
Voices on Relaxation
by Leslie Clark
An hour after sunrise, as palm fronds greet morning breezes,
and cockatoos squawk over a breakfast of beech seeds,
a single shaft of sun pierces clouds and illuminates
a patch of pure silver on the sea’s horizon.
I expect some marvelous being to float to the glittering surface,
glide the ever-lengthening path on aquamarine water
to shore, toward earth’s turmoiled masses. To open
our eyes, for once, to the truth of what is beautiful.
But that only happens in ancient myths of some bygone
culture–not in the confusion of contemporary times.
Finally, the clouds part, like tethered window drapes, allow
the purity of unmasked sunlight to touch my upturned face.
It bestows, I hope, some blessing for the tedious
journey back to a home that may no longer
quite feel like mine.