Two ships,

Two shores.

Bright sand and palms listing slightly,
Heavy with the weight of ripening dates,
And rich, dark mud and cypress knees,
Long legged cranes standing in the shallows.

Each shore is home,

Each is strange.

Home is the place of rest,
Of comfort,
Of gentle repose.

Strange is for the flex of muscle,
The awakening of thought,
The stretch beyond.

A ship sails,
From what is familiar
To what is new
And back again.

Across and across,
Shore to shore
Each shore home to one and strange to the other.



Each strange becomes
Another home
And another strange shore is found.

All ships must sail
Or rot in the home waters.
All ships must return
Or be lost.
Seek new shores
But keep home close.

All journeys end where they began
And begin where the last ended.

Two ships,

Two shores.

All ships,

All shores.