The Lost Elephant

I move through the world,

not in haste, not in fear —
but with the quiet knowing
that I am out of place.

I walk among ants,
watching them scurry,
each step precise,
each task urgent.
I marvel at their rhythm —
but I do not follow.
It is not my way.

I sit with the dogs,
warm and loyal,
their joy simple, their world small.
They welcome me in.
They make me laugh.
But I do not stay.
It is not my home.

I wander further,
through forests of faces,
cities of voices,
and deserts of silence.
I listen, I learn,
but I am still a stranger.

You see, I am an elephant.
I do not run with wolves,
or swim with fish.
I do not fit in just anywhere.

I belong to a herd
I’ve never seen —
a rhythm I’ve never heard,
but somehow,
I know it exists.

Somewhere out there,
there are others like me.
They move the way I move.
They pause where I pause.
They walk through life,
not in lines,
but in waves.

I’ve been without them for so long,
I wonder if I’ll ever find them again.
I wonder if I’ll even recognize them
when I do.

But still,
I walk.
Restless.
Searching.

Because an elephant never stops looking
for the herd
that feels like home.