A nod and a wink to the dverse prompt, but not the prompt. The Bay of Naples.
Lost and found
The wind has lost its way, I hear
it rushing up and down the rows
the soldier-straight stalked rows of corn
that flap their paper arms, wind-torn
and shadowed by the black-winged crows.
The wind has lost its autumn voice,
the brisk and shrill that tosses leaves
like alms upon beseeching earth;
it sings in southern tongues tonight
beneath the stilly stars so bright.
The wind has lost, and I have found,
the path across the holy ground,
to where our dreams begin and end,
where dusk and dawn and moonlight blend
in whispered waves, the scent of pines.
I found the path beneath the trees,
that bend and bow beneath the breeze,
the corn-dry cantilena breeze;
and taste the distant southern sea
that rolled once just for you and me.