her name is sea

when she's fluttering, do you think

of butterflies with snowy whitecaps,

coming, going, but always coming back?

when she's laughing, do you wonder

of baby birds with glittering feathers,

breathing, singing, but always flying back?

then the insects, the birds, my dog and me

we move in quiet rhythm to an unspoken melody;

somehow, we know, today we're coming home

to find Ahma sewing by the sea.

Typewritten poem

Workshop participants :)

Typing on the typewriter:)