Day XVII

on the horizon, full sail ahead,
prayers for steady winds,
calm seas,
open skies.

setting sights for the Old World
the soil from whence our fathers sprang,
the stems from which our mothers bloomed,
vines wending over walls and wells.

stones, weathered, moss covered,
broken, standing vigil
over dust to dust
ashes to ashes

sand, soil through my fingers,
inhale, taste, feel, listen -- listen
for echoes from the canyons of yestercentury
along the streets of Saints Stephen and Maria

shhhhh . . . listen.