of waxy palm fronds
sweeping about in the
sun-toasted sea breeze
sweeping memory into
being and vice versa—nothing
need be described
or shifted, no
insight whispered
in no ear
no wisdom delivered,
such as how the thorn
of grief is the gateway
to the bloom of renewal, no
special nature moment
suspended high above
the seaside cliffs is
necessary, no brilliant
simile cracked across
the bow of no poem
like a bottle of cheap
champagne, shards of
emerald glass exploding
into sunlight, no extension
like the neck of no humming-
bird you’ve ever seen, no
seeing the wind in her wake—
wake up to the sea’s
tempestuous bleed
or your face receding
against the mirror of
it’s morning stillness, no
stillness—see yourself
calling out in the foamy call
of dawn, it is the call of
presence, this moment erupting
from a vast interior void
your inner bird swerving—
away, saying wake up
via words, or even better
through the space
between the words—
find love!

Albert Flynn DeSilver is a MEA alum, poet, memoirist, novelist, meditation teacher, speaker, and workshop leader.