Low Tides

Low Tide by Sarah Penwarden

I walk beside you

Across mud flaps 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 ocean’s

Bones.