the lowering tide

a view of contemplation spreads
wider than sight
and a gentle coastal din speaks
voices we have come to ignore
though thistle crowns lean as if to listen still

eddies of wind pirouette and ruffle
salted and muckish, in from a silver slate sea
that slides surely from beyond horizons
insatiable waters drawn in by siren sands
nibbling at the shore with delicate lips

and the thin sky offers a downpour of scuttering feet
sinuous settling feathered sheet
a choir of chattering tenors
with urgent probing heads
that raid the twice daily pantry
surging pool to rivulet in collective isolation
a tide not pulled by the moon

and I hide
in the dimple of the dune
a distant observer
soused in the still and calm
savoring the delicacy of the untouched
saving my bruising step for better trodden paths

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