What the Waves Wash In
by Wayne Lee

First light in Todos Santos, palm fronds
rustle in the breeze, mourning doves
converse across the courtyard on the wood
whistles of their calling.

All is calm, except for you, who mumble
in your slumber of an unnamed need
for something unprovided in your world.

Even here amid the pinks and purples
of this bougainvillea paradise, you speak
of a want for what you do not have,
for something lost on the gray horizon
of your dreams.

But when the sun lifts over the palapas
and the air clears to a golden blue,
you’ll forget whatever it was you desired
in your sleep. You’ll rise, stretch, dress
and inhale the salt air, then walk down
to the beach to watch the breaching whales
and whatever the waves wash in, aware
you might not recognize what treasures
it delivers from the deep, but knowing
you’ll take pleasure in the mystery.



 

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