White chapel by the sea
A white chapel by the sea; the door opens, and the wind carries the veil toward the water.
Up in circles, banana leaves brushing your shoulder, and at the top the wind suddenly picks up.
Stand between the wings; when the wind comes, you are about to fly.
Sit inside the orange arch; the sea breeze goes in and out, and the afternoon is gone.
A door with no house behind it. Open it, and there is only the sea.
A white birdcage lands on the sand, door open, stairs waiting.
Sit, and the wings open behind you. Swing, and you are flying.
A pink pavilion with a glass roof, so the blossom is the ceiling.
A green canopy over the whole seaside evening.
Where the trees stop, we add the shade.
Lights on, and the lakeshore has a living room.
A little chapel built only for photographs, its door always open.
Time stops at the top of the swing.
A grass-green gate, three seats beneath; sit, and the lake is your backdrop.