Just as the sand becomes your skin

before the water calls you in,

your soul becomes the salt of waves—

the steady splash of all the days

you’ve sung of seabirds from this shore.

But in your song, there is much more

than just the thought of wings— you sing

and it seems then that everything

becomes a bird beside the sea.

We are those birds, both you and me,

and our shared flight is like the tide

when with the moon and winds we glide

through island dreams at night in bed—

those feathered pillows where we lay our heads.