Birthday

We are driftwood on the shore.

Beached and bleached, we lie

Where the tides bring us.

Crashing currents might wing us,

Susurrating shingles sing to us.

We needn’t concern ourselves

With days, dates and ages.

For our rhythms are deeper,

Our groundings steeper;

Tides and moon are our keepers.

Our journey is marked in starfish

And iridescent shells.

We drift in ponds and over dunes

The ebb and flow moved by moon;

We devise and dance to our own tunes.

ÓTeresa Durran 181020