Bobbing, like a bottle without

It’s message of “help, here,”

The driftwood never settles

Until the tide abandons it.


Habitually spit out for a time.

Joggled and then picked it up

Only to be taken a little more

South, a little more north.


I slowly raise the block that

Isn’t even a branch but a

Clump, a brown buoy chiseled

Away by tides swirling tears.


It’s layered years circle, climb

Soft hewn to a pointless rounding

At the top.  Eternity all

In my salt drenched hand!


I hold it to the sky, admiring

And escape with it beyond

Sand, into the blue ocean above

Shining lighter, clearer, brighter.


I gaze into the eroding

Cliff dangling far away

Layered by years as well

Rough hewn, hiding


A wall un-petrified without

The privilege of drifting, in time

Will chip away into the sea.

How clouds shine! I am blinded.


I look down at my numb feet

As they escape into the firm

Stable, entrenched cold

Immobile as beach stones.


Gold-like sparkles tingle upon

My sun burnt limbs, softly fly away

As sand dandelions bent by

The weight of dusks breeze.


I set the driftwood down

With a more wrinkled hand

Knowing it will be safe

As we all wash away.


About Tony DiAngelis

I am a writer and educator who wants to share my creativity in a global medium. Please savor the pieces you enjoy, voice your thoughts, and share this work with others in hopes that they may find inspiration to reconnect with their creative selves.
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