Child on the Beach
His steps are peaceful like the sea today
and in front of the next small, cresting wave
I watch him pick up shells to hear them say
this is the water your young mother gave
to you at birth; his tide-born eyes like birds
that have left sand to float on the ocean.
It will be years from now when those soft words
come back to him, come back when the motion
of schools and work have clogged his natural ears
and somewhere beyond that fog he will hear
his mother’s voice from the far shore of songs
calling from island wombs where he belongs
and he’ll know he must come back again to learn.
I know this child. I know he will return.