I remember a stream that cuts
through the sand to the sea. Long grass
floats in it. The salt water flows
into it, and out again, smoothing
the round stones on the bottom. Sometimes
children step in it, sometimes sand
falls into it. But it always
makes a path to the ocean under
the chalky cliffs of the bay. Wherever
I go, that stream reassures me.
Other travelers know their destinations;
even little waters come home.