We're Not Lost
This California cliff road holds a guard rail,
winds its way round, left to right, and down,
delicately balanced at the edge of the continent.
Strands of sunlight suspended over water,
a tender voice whispers secrets from behind a curtain cloud.
It makes us weep.
Final, bright, awake,
And here is the soundtrack to this poem. It sounds like what the poem feels like for me.