my legs are crossed in front of me

my bare feet sat in warm sand

and i am on the shore of shores—

a place so ordinary you might not notice it

unless you were told to sit and wait a while.

they say you and i and everyone around us

we belong to this shore

we grow up with its rhythmic tides,

pulling us in and out again

but crossing to the other shore isn’t supposed to be on our minds

we’re on this shore because it is our home

and even as we can see sailboats,

canoes and paddle boats all drifting out to sea one by one,

we are called to this shore now.

this one only.

for years i have sat here

and wondered why things are this way or that way

if my ship will come in and give me some other home,

“any home but this home,” i’ve said before.

but today i am feeling the salty water splash up on my toes and ankles and legs and it occurs to me:

we are playing.

we are at rest.

we are content on this shore.

and now a boat of my very own to carry me away doesn’t seem so appealing.

so i stand up,

brush off my legs

collect my things

and walk toward the home

just beyond the sand dune

where there is a candle flickering in the window just for me.

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