I, MIGRANT

This beach my bed,
wet sand my pillow,
given up by the numberless sea
nameless I lie.

This beach the home
I hoped for
where now my body rolls,
helpless with each tide.

It was fear drove me here
running from death’s claw,
only to find it
waiting on this foreign shore.

Scott Fellows

THESE I LEAVE

I envy your future sun,
this light, brilliant
I will not see.
I leave to you, my grandson.

I envy the breeze that will bring
the wooded scent of cedar,
where I have watched its branches sway
and listened as they sing.

I envy the flow and fall
of springs and rain,
their touch that I’ll not feel
where no one feels at all.

I envy the lover’s kiss,
the secret whispers you will hear,
the wondered journey that awaits
where I have walked before.
Forgive me, I envy you this.