Gold and glitter ground

bare feet pressing prints into sand

the sea rushing forward

to wash them away.

You find me here:

a shell swept up to shore

after the wild ride of breaking waves

and the fury of the ocean floor.

Break me open.

Spill the salt water out.

This shape is no longer me.

Listen to the waves crash

admire the sun that always sets

no choice but to allow the wind

to whip our ruddy cheeks.

I must leave to find home —

even though you think

you were the one to find me.

Let me be amidst the trees —

they want to newly free me

the moss and decay of their forest floor

a bed for my aching feet

to move forward or lay still.

Unlike the ocean’s current

the trees whisper,

“choose what’s best.”

The only thing they ask of me is my exhale.

And everything they give is my life.

So: Away I go.

Drop me off at the forest’s edge.

I am shape shifting

and the trees will know

what to do with me.