Driftwood

Eyes touch first: shape of a bird,

a hole, a small darkness.

 

Scent of dust. Taste of wood.

To the fingers, carved rivulets.

 

Almost weightless — all water gone.

But held against the ear, a sound of water.

 

Bird shape: tailed, curved, close-winged.

Or a dolphin face: lower lip, eye.

 

Or, turned over, a cupped hand,

fits to my own hand, shape to shape.

 

From seed, root, sapling, tree,

from spreading, breaking, falling, bearing,

from rock, water, heat, hands

 

we are made new. Worn away.

This space within.