I’m driftwood, and I’m floating out to sea
as sun descends upon my home - the grove
of trees whose fragrance still remains with me.
And likewise, heaven’s work of art, a mauve
surrounding me, now permeates my soul.
Warm water, in the twilight growing cold,
is rocking me. Beneath dark blue, a shoal
moves swiftly; overhead there will unfold
the myriad of stars in semblance of
a giant carousel in dimming sky.
Those stars that glitter for the grove I love
will glitter too for me, where here I lie
alone, enraptured. . . and I think I might
drift evermore, enveloped by this night.