I was a sandpiper when a child,
gathering days with my beak
and stepping into imagined worlds
along the San Clemente shores
in search of faerie gifts for you
until I would find shells.
Turquoise, pearls, crystals,
I collect mussels
and stuff them under my wings.
I tweet to myself while pecking
at elaborate sandcastles
built for the faerie spirits,
and I listen for their voices
in conch shells and strain
to hear your voice
among the waves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem