Drift-Wood,

trees so desperate
they would lie down
just to be part of the ocean

Some trees aren't even
trees anymore
they have been
blown so far back
by the wind at the edge of the ocean

I could swear
everything on that hill was slanted backwards

Sometimes, you only leave room in my mind
for some terrible things:

all the drift-wood the ocean keeps pushing away

all the rock-side worn down by a tide who will keep coming back

and the gentle beach-clay who would cradle just about anyone's foot