Poem – When the tide comes home

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When the tide comes home

There is a place beyond the dunes
where the wind leans in
only to listen.

You walk there —
not to find anything,
but to let the sand remember your feet.

A heron lifts,
slow as forgiveness,
from the silver mouth of the creek.
Its wings do not ask the air for permission.

Here, the salt grass bends to you,
the sun lays its warm hand
across your shoulders,
and the restless water says,
It was always you.

You stand in the wide, bare morning
and notice how the world holds you —
not as a prize,
not as a burden,
but as a stone belongs to the river,
a cloud belongs to the blue.

And in that soft, unarguable belonging,
you turn inward,
meet the one you have been carrying all your life,
and say — at last —
Yes.

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