The breeze of thought,

Blows through home,

Vague, familiar,

   On a ledge over the ocean,

Beating waves,

   And twisting pirogues,

Oh to be there and feel taunting life.

Or dappled sun on fields of grass,

Should I recline,

   Stretch my back,

Wait till flowers close,

Catch the whisper,

   Stay, just here,

In the quieting room?

The starry beckon,

   My name,

That I cannot recall,

A vast, dark space,

   With twinkling, grinning,

Promise,

   Of family past.

Or I could bury my soles,

   In dunes,

Flop by the clock,

   In time,

For library musk,

And fireflies.

The grand old dance,

The weaving steps,

Was it step-step step, or

   One, two, three?

Under crystal lights,

Maybe I'll twirl the floor again,

   Feet light as I pass and reach,

For canapes.

Or perhaps I'll stay,

   Under blanket warmth,

   Carpet underfoot,

And stop, just stop,

   The choices, caged,

   That once resounded,

Now that all is quieting.