Lavender

A mind is a ray of light running to the sea;         an arch of wood upon which birds rest.         Minds roam the ocean's crest, sit as antlers upon a beach,         watch eddies of water trap themselves in the sand.         And minds are in anything but a state of rest - they violate         physics, make mockery of other bodies not in ready motion.         I have seen a mind enclosed above fresh air and sunshine,         frolicking on its own strength, the elasticity of its thought lassoing         all the stars assembled.         Golden points of light caught in this sand with an oval sun         marching blue legions across the sky bring more harmony than         all the stars assembled.         Admiral. Fakir. Harem. They are all here as is batik, geisha,         sarong, teak and gingham. I have seen them in quiet pools near         the atolls.         Rapture is a word to be eaten with persimmon and pears.         The closed wood. Copse and fragrant bush. White mare alone in         a green-studded pasture aback groves and groves of pleasant         trees. Bright insects making a curry of the forest floor with leaves         as trinkets bartered to the wind.         And the endless sky overturned like a bowl across the horizon.         Water and air, the two chief elements in a brisk compound with         earth and fire.         The land itself nursing a presence by the sea as a lizard might         devour a fly on a bough above a tree.         Then there are the granaries of this empire, the washed up logs         darting into footprints from the inlets. A white sand making its         presence felt like a tireless magician. Green strands of the         cucumber bush big with melon, a mother with expectant child         hushed and sitting by a clearing.         "The waters of the stream please me more than the sea,"         coconut groves with hand-me-down messages for the ages.         Strands among weeds, wine bottles as ferrymen ready for         circumnavigation around islands crisscrossing bucolic charts.         And everywhere reefs and coral and sugarbush fish darting         between the sieve of land breaking bread with sea; exchanging         colours from many coloured coats.         Kangaroo, koala, tepee, bayou hula, lei.         Sights which gallop against the senses, act as brigands to mature         reason. Faraway in the mountain fastness of the mind, alpine         meadows look out upon further marvels, exchange cocoa for         quinine, adjust the mind as a stirrup before a long, night ride.         The shaman with a hammock in his catamaran dolefully accepts         the waves as the skin must a tatoo.         The lovely collision of sound with twilight on fragrant sea-grape,         the hush of storm clouds preparing to administer their own         bromide of fire before the appearance of a band-aid patch of         lightning streaks against the divide.         Perhaps lavender is a language here, the juxtaposition of mind         with energy coming to a halt from a brisk canter, then proceeding         to nibble a currant from my hand.