Without a Trace

Ocean dreams of quiet servitude fresh water pearls and golden shores pouring out, until there is no more Silent skies sliding o'er the sea motioning to rocks , seashells, and trees Eggglantine shades of night lifting off the breeze here come the sailboats, gliding on the hues of one still night; Wrapped in linen sheets of my own sorrow I watch as morning arrives with her Peruvian promise I am a wanting child lingering longer then I ought to in this lovely, lovely, place where one can dissapear without a trace.