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High Tide

After the tide,
followed many cat-paws
breeze nudging water
softly,
without upheaval
or event.
And each time
mistakes were made.
New ones and riffs
on old ones.
All washing ashore
like nothing had been
before or since.
The moon curved
and filled
in endless cycles
as desire
ebbed and flowed.
Before a new tide,
the sea is calm
deceptively crystal.
The familiar
salt wind heads
from the west
golden and moist
from the
dipping sun
Here is one last
time before the
sea gulps me whole.
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