Sestina for Morocco

This is my first Sestina.

Sestina for Morocco

I walk the Florida shore and scream at waves.
All day there have been musings in my head,
musings about little things. Parts of time
for one; things people yelled at me at home
when I was young, usually at a meal -
Sometimes we ate in deafening silence too.

If someone did speak, mother was stunned too;
Her dark, long hair showed off her many waves;
her manner gentle always, with the meal.
I ate my stew; the voices in my head
were giving me directions to my home,
and telling me important was the time.

The new cafe was nearing closing time.
I'd gotten lost in fine memories of
many meals, and much good food at home.
I heard yet my voice screaming at the waves
and wondered what was wrong inside my head
Causing pain after a warm, silent meal.

I loved Morocco with fine family meals.
We baked bread in public ovens there
and oranges sold from push carts cleared my head.
There were souks of freshly ground spices too.
These images will not wash away with waves.
Both voices and volition say, "Go home!"

I have but an apartment here, no home
where I could spend the day making a meal,
have wine, take a long walk among the waves.
My voices told me there was little time;
my hurting, aging body knew it too.
I knelt before an altar,bowed my head.

I heard the blessed voices in my head.
Everyone near me'd left for their own home.
I sat alone, praying that my love too,
Would be about and find a fine, warm meal.
Together was not possible this time;
We're separated by the ocean's waves.

Wind turns waves; my heart longs to turn my head
against this foul time. We would know a home
where we'd have a meal. Love would be there too.