Low Tides

Low Tide by Sarah Penwarden

I walk beside you

Across mudflaps 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 mussels yet to grow:

My soul prints left

On the ocean’s

Bones.