Going Home

Going home
I have a small bird inside my chest
the size of the wrens we saw
whirling on the grassy track
with shadows that shifted our
footprints to the inhaling ocean.

The little wren inside my chest is
small but spirited
and I say a small prayer to
some higher power that I know
is the same as
the wren the ocean the grass
and me
which I forget too often

So my prayer is that this time
going home
I won’t forget again.