Low Tides.
I walk beside you
Across mud flats in
My blue gumboots,
Over crackling oyster shells,
Green ribbed pipi, the traces of wading birds
When the tide is out, what lies exposed:
River threads of mud, old brown stones,
Tiny muscles yet to grow:
My soul prints left
On the oceans
Bones .
By: Sarah Penwarden
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