Tidal (Poetry)

Low ebb — the morning waters calm
unrolling their cool grey
the barely warm, diluted sun
spread languid on the day
and nothing obvious just yet
no thoughts to stir up grief
the mind’s long shoreline hazy still
caught napping underneath.

But there are clouds — far off and vague
which smudge the waking view
they menace lightly where they touch
the streaked horizon’s blue
and something in the breeze picks up
a hint of what’s to come
unsettling the heart’s quiet pace
its fragile truce undone.

And distant in the flowing mass
a current heaves and swells
like dread is rising from the depths
accompanied by bells
tolling faint — a warning sent
the tide is on the turn
and dark within each crested wave
old sparks of knowledge burn.

Grey memory floats like a buoy
a marker in the dawn
along the edge of dreams stretched thin
as bullied sails, and torn
by gusts that rip night’s fantasy
and blow its wreck away —
leave a ghost ship drifting out
dissolving into day.