I’d like to speak of this memory
by Lynne Hjelmgaard

of hummingbirds, long ago fragrances,
coconut and fig, fluttering wings next to
a hot, hot wooden deck underfoot.
Trade winds blowing up the night,
throwing our ship about,

pounding into the dock and away.
Taut lines stretched to the limit and released.
Thrill of the wind working its way
through every inch of the rigging, no mercy
but to take over and blow, take over and blow

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