High Tide

Slithering and slicing, moon-face mirroring,

bubbling, inviting secrets, whispering;

tell me: if I follow, how far will you take me?

Backward, there, or forward? To, or from, destiny?

Earth-gathered sky sorrows, what breath here, escaping,

breathes life here, tomorrow, at your end, cascading?

Warbling brook, calling: for whom do you beckon?

Meandering, gnawing at the earth’s mouth, silted.

Sharpened boulders jutting out around your ford like teeth,

riffled swirling cutting mossy emerald green;

will you sweep me away as you have done here, through,

when the clouds tire of rain, and tides rise from sky blue?

Tell me, if I follow, how far will you take me?

Backward, there, or forward? To, or from, destiny?