At the Waterline
A short poem about returning to a familiar shore.
I thought the shore would know me as a key knows its own door. But the tide had moved the pebbles and the boats were there no more.
So I sat beside the water with my shoes against my knees, and the wind rehearsed the names of all the long-forgotten trees.
Nothing asked where I had traveled. Nothing weighed the years away. There was room beside the water for the person here today.