The Prize

Sometimes in the quickening air I hear the sweet song Of the graceful willows The softness of the setting sun Flowing over me like honey; One leg slung over day’s bright edge Stepping into tomorrow

You would think It would be your eyes First seen and met, instead The perfect choir of your laugh; Like wind in rolling fields Filled with tall green grass; Weaving the rushing sound Of possibilities.

You have surrounded us Inside the whispered cloister Of your boundless mind Passing secrets which are obvious To you who have the keys.

Like tawny shells revealed A prize exposed Surprised faces gaze skyward Troubles forgotten Erased by your endless tides Which move whole oceans And make the horizon promise To bring us home.