Ocean

Of the Ocean, stories I’ve heard.

The magnitude of which, petrifying.

But so is the sky from here, isn’t?

What makes the Ocean different?

Perhaps it’s the same.

The Ocean could eat me up, they say.

But why shouldn’t I let it?

Aren’t I just a drop anyway?

So, like the river, I flow.

Thirsty flowers and fishes drink from me.

Sometimes, I hop on the back of a twig.

Sometimes, a leaf.

For a drop in the river I am,

flowing with the grace of the undercurrent.

Like the river, I surge,

in deep hunger to merge with my Ocean.