Neap Tide
Now, life has almost passed us by,
and peaceful resignation reigns;
the beach, a spawning ground of old,
shrieks mournfully in sea gull tones.
The neap tide’s come to lull the shore;
crab moltings own the water’s edge.
Forewarned, am I, of nature’s course
in grains of gray and casings banked.
Now hand in hand, we lovers walk-on;
each throbbing with the pull of tide.
We sink in sands both wet and warm
soothed by the skies now overcast.
As faithful as the moon on high,
between the water lines, they spawn;
in estuaries at peace, they nest;
eggs as small as grains of sand.
Will you come when the moon is round
and leave your molted shell beside me?
Will you sense the celestial call
or let the scavengers find me?
First Published by Page and Spine
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