The creek bares its belly on this waning of tide
Voluminous mounds hewing sheens in the sunlight
Ponderous in waiting for the renewing of time.
Reedbeds edging, soft, as small brushes
Soothing and stroking the lilt of the wind
While gulls in their swooping, slide down through the air
In kiss chase and callings that speak of few cares.
The cleft of the channel curls to the sea
And candy-ball buoys steer boats to their safety –
Yet there’s one marooned on the dry banks again
Waywardness rescued by the man in the punt boat.
Wading birds wander and scatter the shoreline
Brown speckled bodies are cradled on stilt legs
with feet that print filigree patterns on salt marsh
Pecking for worms as a professor for answers
That hide in the silt to be washed by the waters.
A yacht, long keeled, exposed like sore gums, is
leaning and tilting against dry banks unyielding
Like an old man who’s sleeping
In the folds of his armchair and dreaming
His memories of wars and of loving.
And the bows of the boats now turn to the ocean
The waters return as a tide – and a cloud
Slow gentle lappings bring the river’s quiet rising
Swimming together where the sea finds the sky
Union found beyond sameness and changing.