Tidesong

The tide is out, the creek a gentle trickle

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

the drying sand with muddy spots bespeckled.

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

The trickle slackens, changes in the harbour;

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

at the bar the waves are washing over.

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

The tide begins its steady, slow accretion

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

in places it has lost, reoccupation

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

of the mudflats and the sandbanks.  Listing

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

boats are stranded at their stations, waiting

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

as the rising waters reach and lift them

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

echoes of the distant sea-swell rock them

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

straining at their lines.  The bows face seaward

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

against the current pushing strongly townward.

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

In the saltmarsh channels water rises

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

to the edges of the sea-grass—pauses,

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

makes another lingering turn, begins

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

retreating back the way it came, regains

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

the channel, turns the boats around once more

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

to face the town, runs headlong for the bar,

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring

becomes a trickle.  On the soft, receding

    Hear the marsh-birds calling

water’s edge, the birds are searching, finding.

    Breath the scents the sea-winds bring