By the Pacific

By the Pacific

Runnels of silver spume

Swept as polished slate

Wash noontide-fires

To the black hovering cross.

The tongues of plants and men

Hosanna in silence,

Retiring along 

This siren's tide.

Sharper than swords of Conquistadores

The masks of Capuchin monkies,

Leaping through crowns of palms 

Boughs bent, now quieted.

Then blazes this fire

From Cathay to Darien: 

Whence O voyager! 

Are you the Captain or the beaten mast?

The swept ship between the fronds

Or the way west at last!

The just and peaceable people 

Broken semaphore of these million stars.

 Will Morgan, Montezuma Costa Rica, 

January 4, 2012