#22

Low Tide at the Marsh

The tide is low.

I don't suppose 

she wonders at

the eta

of her beloved,

the sea?

Mud flats lay dappled

with pools. 

Sandpipers scamper

with a delicate touch.

crabs emerge

clams open

mud breathes 

and dries a little,

seaweed relaxes

and the periwinkles sing.

What is your low-tide song?

How beautiful and abundant

can the in-between time be?

Until they are not between

anymore, they are holey,

they are with the other always

kissing, always embracing

in the quiet emptiness.

How, too, can we 

be like the sea?

We don't even have to try.

All we have to do

is blink

and breath

and listen 

to the wind tickling

the autumn leaves.

and wait in wonder

for the next step

because it will come

like all the rest

happy to fill in 

happy to give back

happy to be reunited

with its beloved,

the shore.

-Llora H. Kressmann