top of page

Blue of the Marsh


Meg Smith

You have made this whole
with your dark eyes
over the deep;
each wave a riddle
merging at the tips of reeds,
golden in the channels.
It's where we walk
and give of your hours;
I will keep them even
when in these walls on earth,
you are parted from salt,
and even from air.
Only the sea-grass and I
keep the elements.

bottom of page