Sweet Pacific Dream

Last night’s roaring wind
Expended.
And I awake
Late at eight.
Covers kicked off
But not chilled.
Rather thrilled by a
Dream fleeing.
As if almost never there.
My orange-hued Room.
Holds me like a womb.
Dream of a tropical place.
Sand, palms, coconuts.
And out of the surf
Green sea turtles.
Numbers of them.
Approaching with smiles
Guileless, approving.
Leathery backsides.
Wet and sparkling.
Nothing to hide
Warm and welcoming.
Coming close.
Unlike many people.
(Their expectations,
Pushy, dispassionate
Agendas led to many a
Troubled sleep.)
But not the turtles
Or the un-named beach.
The lone Crusoe experience.


Winter February, notwithstanding.
Time to rise. Refreshed.