Breathe in —
the tide rolls out
to the Mother Sea of Source
in air-sucking return
to the oceanic womb of life,
pulling consciousness
like a uterine contraction
at three centimeters dilation
Breathe out —
the tide rolls in,
chasing the shore with a
milky cappuccino espuma,
frothy foaming wash of
unconscious remains:
the detritus of thought —
broken pieces of desire
and aversion;
half-baked plans and memory shards
Keep breathing —
aware and watching this tide
roll out
and
in;
see the deposits of shell,
seaweed and trash,
never stooping to retrieve a thing
until the surf
washes clean
upon a pristine
immaculate beach
with nothing to retrieve
Michele Maxwell
San Antonio, TX
