I ran by the water

I ran by the water,
my bare feet slip-slopped atop the wet
sand in between the breaks that rushed in
and splashed my shorts.

I ran by an old Chinese woman,
standing like granite toward the sunset.
I pictured her longing,
longing for the Pacific to unfurl before her
so once more,
she could lay eyes on her home.

I hear the words of the psalmist,
as he strums and whispers,

How can I sing a song of Zion in a foreign land?

So I ask him,

Where have we been
that was not a foreign land?

And I’m still running.
Clinging not to this strange country,
but setting my eyes on Zion,
longing one day to arrive and be
an alien no more.

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