would you tell me how
you came to be
stranded here
so very
far from what you were?
I want to know…
from what horizon did you slip
when one-too-many storms
drove hungry, running tides into the trees?
where have the whorls of current borne your bones?
did seabirds seek your refuge
from the hard and heavy air,
riding out your calm until they knew to fly once more?
have whales felt your passage in their sleep?
were you adrift so long that time
became a lapping ghost of suns and moons,
and were you etched by every
star above the swells
that turned you over
and under
and over,
threshing you and milling you
into some new and grayling thing?
please,
would you tell a story of
how you came to be
a lonely watcher on my shore,
the world between your grains
and all your paths along the trackless sea
a memory to learn?
I need to know…
