Early oracle of harmony
as a swift tide of rays
kisses the world magnolia.
The day is rinsed in purity;
breeze whispers its first song in
the tree’s opalescent sepals
where a colorful blooming
above is glimpsed by the
watchful eye of now.

Here mind is free to invent
its own ballet, a host of
feelings rising like a flock
of birds with each passing
sensation.

Here are depths of time
suspended in the stillness
of palm fronds as moist heat
lays its lazy blanket over
beach and sea.

This season is peopled by
idea ghosts haunting the
corridors of thought left
idle for too long, the ever-
moving tide of change
soon turning.

Oh, to be invisible as wind,
simple as air yet constant
as an orchestra of waves
rising, plunging, withdrawing
and returning again and again.