Gentle Winds

Gentle winds flow freely
through gray and green grass,
like some ancient mariner
whose way home is a constant crisscross
of endless patterns.

Gentle winds flow freely,
moving currents of time
from one shore to another.
Tiny sea creatures ride gracefully
upon the shell-homes of others—
petrified remnants unraveling life’s mysteries
while scholars record the history
of a world they did not know.

And somehow we rejoice, however briefly,
that we are part of it all.

Gentle winds flow freely
around new travelers—
bent backs, keen eyes,
heirs apparent to tiny encased treasures
for which they have spent hours searching;
scavengers, modern pirates,
plundering wrapped gifts
with ritual celebrations
of peaceful survival.

Gentle winds flow freely
through untendered hands
and wistful countenance,
longing for the serene harmonies
that touch the shorelines of the mind—
acknowledging limitation,
unmistakably aware
we trespass upon mankind’s mother,
yet hoping our dust might sparkle like crystal
and catch the keen eye
of some future, foreign traveler.

May 12, 1984