driftwood
I left the house for the ocean
a hammer holstered to my belt
my pockets full of nails
up and down the shoreline
I collected & stacked
driftwood into various columns
the sun would bake them dry
while the moon marveled
how my dream became reality
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Really enjoyed the imagery of this poem!
Thank you for visiting and letting me know, Elizabeth.