What does the albatross think
When it departs for that endless blue?
When it casts its gaze toward the waves,
And opens its arms to the wind?

Do its thoughts wander back to the shores?
Does it miss the scent of earth warmed by sun?
Does the soft pull of the familiar
Sit like an ache beneath its feathers?

Does it ever consider retracing its path
To the speck of green left behind?
Where its own eggshells litter the soil,
Where the grass sways ever so gently?

Perhaps such thoughts are muffled
By the swift thrumming of its heart,
By the restless beat of wings.
Perhaps the albatross does not look back.