Low Tide by Sarah Penwarden
I walk beside you
Across mudflats in
My blue gum boots,
Over crackling oyster
Shells, green-ribbed pipe,
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 prince left
On the oceans’
Bones.
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