Once at Roche-A-Cri

I have been a piece of driftwood
floating
rough and tumble
edges jagged
rusted out
faded into the water’s deep blue,
the color of ebony and earth
and sky white
clouded over.

I have seen the waves’ crystal
tingles,
the ever twinkling water stars,
the black caps and licks of waves
from atop the breathing
water.

I have spun the same way
as water,
with the same under current,
that circle of diving
that rejuvenation,
the sun and the deep water chasm
taking their meeting turns.

I have touched every little wave
with a gentle turn of my wooden soul,
and when the west winds blew
have been swallowed by monsters of water bodies
and wondered through the crashing
if i could stay afloat.

Yet, i have seen the calm winds blow
like a whisper,
and i have felt suns rays warm
blowing through my open wholes, those cracks within.
And, I have smelled the aura of peace
as a smooth water breeze,
deep aqua and marine
and alive.

But i have never felt this calm release
before,
after feeling the slow, warm sand of shore
the tiny rocks
spread out,
the solid pull of earth beneath
sunset
silhouettes.

I have never seen the grass bud this way,
and the new delicacies
of tiny bright flowers,
how big they are against the sky.

And the last time the waves kissed me
with their cold full tongues
and laid me here to rest
among the roots and the flowers,
I know before that moment
I have never been home.