In the stretching blue

there and gone and through
the sun's rays can't pour down
disperse that murk,
substantial cloud at ground level
is a row of zeros on the page,
the forest's quiet rage
eloquent for those with ears
for myth and mood
the spirit in the wood
in the palm
warmth of cores
quiet shores unstirred by wind or hand
not flung but
rolled gently in
hands massaging
water onto the beach's gold.

Sea gloom rises like density
from those eaves
their dark green secrets
rustling, leaves in trillions
twitch as one

and out across the links 
sharing the brightness
gleam with a six-iron
stroll life's golfers
enjoying the air.

Beyond them that fair blue dust
could be haze
could be rain, but so unseen is it
not one of them complains.

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