All who despair
should come to this place
where silence inflates
in wave after wave,
where regiments of glass
are still a day’s march
from the grass of the dunes.

Your shoulders can drop.
Let them sink, let the sand
take a hold of you,
mother and warm
you, and show you
the sea
as if for the first time
the magic of wind
makes quick disappearance
of madding machines.

Don’t resist.
Give yourself up
to the blue muscled squadrons
pounding in from the sea.
Close your eyes.
Wait. Let
Your red lungs rise,
your strong throat shout:

Heart, Oh my Heart!
Reinforcements have come!
Shake yourself then
whirling and humming
and draw up your plans
for another assault
on the world

as it has become.

Will Kirkland
1979, Spain