Rescuers

You searched so long for the first starfish
My faith faltered, receding like the tide,
But you, seven years old and wise in the ways of wishes
Held fast to belief, to my hand, walking beside
The emerging rocks, hunting for promising places.
When finally found, irregular--one leg curiously shorter
I thought nothing so beautiful, except your face
Turning, determined after rescuing to deeper water.
As the day grew on and we became practiced
In the ways of hiding and discovery
The numbers grew and you noticed
Not all starfish needed saving. Some were very
Content in tidal pools under stones patiently
Waiting for the inevitable return of the sea.

James Healy