continental drift in poetry

Maybe I am driftwood and
I’m trying to take the shape of me.
Maybe I do drift good but
I’m trying to find a place to be.
Maybe I drift because I should but
I’m wasting away here in the sea.
Maybe I’d stop drifting if I could but
I just don’t know how to be free.
Maybe I’d be drafting up a vision but
I just was never happy as a tree.
Maybe I’d be hitching up my britches
for the sake of some ancient memory.
Maybe I’d be counting up my rings if
I thought that meant a single thing.
Maybe I am driftwood and
that’s all I can be for bad as well as good.