Driftwood

You are driftwood,
thrown from shore to shore,
pushed more by storms than day to day tides,
left to lodge in the sand,
to become a landmark, half blight, half beautiful,
firm, a survivor of the small squalls,
so long in place
bystanders and travelers alike cannot imagine
your vacancy.

Until of course, you are gone,
until a storm stronger than your roots
tears you away,
sweeps you into the sea
and salt and currents remold you once again,
soften you,
tears away another layer, and another
and throws you on a new shore
to begin again