Driftwood

To be in the softness of it,
this is something I do not look for.
Losing myself in the falling grace
is not something I plan for.
I don't even hope for it.

Lost, gone, far away,
breaking on the brink of brine
Being better, alone
Leaving it to be simple
Learning the luxury of solitude,
and then breaking the fast
by seeing the soft gaze of another,
only for you?
No, I do not seek to quiet that desire
to be caressed in their thoughts.

The water will not always
be warm, or still.
The salt hurts as much as it heals, sometimes.
The water forgets if you are who you are
or driftwood, flotsam.
It doesn't toss you any differently.

But soon, after your bath,
your sharp edges smooth,
you will be mistaken at a glance for a stone,
and surprise! Your discoverer will see how light you are.
Rounded, perfect, belonging to no one.
Only retaining a ghost of the place you came from.
that forgotten tree.

You, beautiful piece,
little and perfect
have never known what it is to truly navigate
You are pulled by magic. A force
and, dearest, we both know
you don't understand it.

You are shaped in the form of your own
loveliness,
I watch you, and wonder where you've been
And if we would have met,
no matter what.

Perfect piece.
A saviour of the earth and sky
and born again of the sea,
I marvel at your grace.

August 18th, Sombrio
Morning: an ode of beauty, I am surrounded