Driftwood.
I like the sound of the journey that lives in its name,
the sea taking it for a ride, marking it up
and smoothing away the bark.

But this was no piece of driftwood, it was a tree that arrived
one morning on the beach.
Where had it once been rooted? Had the storm taken it?
Why did it look like it was reaching out to the water,
poised to return to its wandering?