Grace At The Isle Of Palms
There is peace to an island-simple plot
Separate, cloaked in ocean yet true to
The notion of terra firma, though not
So sure fire, familiar with the power
Of water. Here, the supple palms tower
Over sand, and (you feel) stand for something.
Strangers can come here and become less strange
Until they find themselves part of the place,
Belonging here and, finally, to each
Other — more like family, or the way
Sand belongs to the beach. Then it hits you,
How the palms, the waves, it’s all of a grace,
And you turn, like the jester pelican
That takes the air and becomes there a king.