And the gilded morning arrived
that swept salt across her feet
and sand into her hair.
A favoring wind whispered summons
A course plotted in sea foam
pointed away from all familiar and known.
She looked away from land
away from every and any laid claims
A sharp needle for her to follow across
a rose of any color but indecision.
“When will you return” asked the
live oak, the magnolia tree, the weeping feathery maple.
Her answer returned in a corked bottle
“When the wind blows me home.”