Driftwood

on the beach
ringed all around by treasure
shucked molluscs, kelp pearls
it looked like a dragon
it felt like me
the other flotsam in the sand

i asked if it was lonely
it said, “sometimes”
recounted its travels
said it could have taken the right path
but took the left
can’t return home now
till the tide turns

i asked it, “are you sure?”
it asked me, “are you sure?”
i said, “no”
and where’s home?

i was as foreign as this log
both unrecognisable to our notions of home
we’d set ourselves adrift
before we were ready
and so here we were
speaking in our wooden tongue
amongst waves that rolled their eyes at us
while the others thought we dumb creatures slept

we drank like brine
the deliquescence of late afternoon
even the sun dips low, i thought, and takes its time
scorn for being the slow, beached strangers
is for those in fleet, in flock, in pack
those blinded
by their togetherness
reflected in the lone other

the driftlog dragon
and i
winked at one another
salt hardened
brackish things
eyes like urchins
letting
the mocking waves
the sun
and all the time in the world
lathe us smooth