The Tide of Our Days

the tide carries in
and carries out
the shoreline a canvas
of arrival and departure
while the force of lapping
and crashing waves
change the bits
the reach, what remains
whole or broken
sea water flowing clear
or bubbling, frothy, sand-filled

if each of us are a shore
the tide of our days
flowing, churning, or crashing
under the lip
of the moon’s many faces
my shore would be
marked by gobbling waves
the violent undertows
rushing out
capturing the father rock
then one by one or two
claiming the sibling shells
eroding the shoreline’s purchase
eating up my first family, home
left scoured, empty-wet
in shadow
clinging to what remained
then later arrived

the next generation
their perfect shells
their newborn ease
under the pull
of the moonlight’s innocence
merging, then blending
into early anxious tides
water like breath
made visible

until finally slowing, trusting
in-breath, out-breath
ebb and flow,
as new shores grow
in the steadying tides
of mystery and grace

(The true format of this poem is first line left justified; second line indented, in repetition. Doesn’t seem to translate to Medium.)

after the storm
beach mandala

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Lyndon

Under The Same Sky: Writing and photos. Musings on the gritty and the beautiful that gets us through & more. Original content.