Only a beige slat of sun

above the horizon, like a shade pulled

not quite down.  Otherwise,

clouds.  Sea rippled here and

there.  Birds reluctant to fly.

The mind wants a shaft of sun to

stir the gray porridge of clouds,

an osprey to stitch sea to sky

with its barred wings, some dramatic

music: a symphony, perhaps

a Chinese gong.

But the mind always

wants more than it has —

one more bright day of sun,

one more clear night in bed

with the moon; one more hour

to get the words right; one

more chance for the heart in hiding

to emerge from its thicket

in dried grasses — as if this quiet day

with its tentative light weren’t enough,

as if Joy weren’t strewn all around.

~ Holly Hughes

Filed under: Peace-full Poetry by Scaughdt