Spring Tide

That stubborn pull to sea,

whose tides reveal my younger self

or something that resembles it,

from memory, dark and brighter

and still occupying the same

boundaries of space,

even though, in my younger days,

I’d thought I’d stretch much further,

out into the estuary

and the oyster beds beyond

But now whose reach diminishes

as iron grey waves salt flesh

back into the water,

leaving nothing but erosion

and a darting iridescence

fathoming the depths

for the empty form of a song

Spring Tide

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