The strumming and the flute notes rise into the atmosphere, and if the whole world’s harp should burn up, there will still be hidden instruments playing, playing. This singing art is sea foam. The graceful movements come from a pearl somewhere on the ocean floor. Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge of driftwood along the beach wanting, wanting. They derive from a slow and powerful root that we cannot see. Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out!