It's Still Life

Where the Tide Has Gone

I.
The wind sings,
weathering ribs of wood,
shadows comb their fingers
through the sand.

Beyond, the sea lies
whisper-flat and silver,

as though the moon has drawn it
from the land.

II.
These old posts keep
vigil at the shoreline,
holding memories
of every vanished tide,

and somewhere
past the quiet rim of evening,
water waits
for heaven to turn
the world again.

Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.