Low tides!

Low Tides

I walk beside you

Across mudflats in

My blue gumboots,

Over cracking oyster

Shells, green ribbed-pipi, The traces of waving birds.

When the tide is out, what lies exposed:

River threads of mud, old brown stones,

Tiny mussels to grow;

My sole prints left
On the ocean’s

Bones.
                                                                                           By:    Sarah Penuwarden