(For Mark Dickinson)

The tide moves in, clockwise

Up

Running rightside

Omens of still moon’s silent

Wax

Tugging water

Somnambulant, basking pillars

Drenched

Kelp ladders stack

Hangs at noon, dangles slack

Laggard;

Fools see stasis

The tide falls out, counterclockwise

Sink

Gravity in flux

Pools marooned, evaporate

Under

Slumped silva

Exposed hectares of fecund

Flesh

Wetland deserted

Passages through Umbra

Shaded

Still, haunted still

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