I turned to the beauty,
built a fire
while three ravens cackled at
It was not serious warfare…
more an exchange of
across the borders of
status and majesty.
I had a conversation with the sky
about bringing rain and
wondered if a particle of smokey ash could
ride the wind to Portugal,
in the sunlit hair
of a brown eyed girl.
She was taught hard to pray to the mother of Jesus,
thinking in terms of
a heavenly kingdom, angels, saints,
cathedrals. But she loves the seashore where wonder
washes up into her fledgling spirit and
shells in the sand are her treasures. Someday
she may know.
Not many built a fire this morning though
I would be an ugly American to disregard
that many have turned
to the beauty in
their own way,
like that little girl in Portugal.