low-tide (in two movements)

mudflats, maze-like,

straining mercury

through channels wide as giant’s capillaries.


as water into wine,

the steady salt and brine

transmutes to ichor, draining out to sea.


tidal lullaby

daylight is a foreign currency.

exiled to an isle of cotton-silk,

you spend it under unfamiliar sheets.


blankets billow round you like a womb

(rock you to a soft, synthetic swoon).

tidal, you rise,–

reborn beneath the moon.