the tide rises, the tide falls | an oceanic literary magazine

His hands smell of anemone and mushrooms
on a spring morning...

the tide washed you in today
and I picked you up from still wet sand...

There is no visible horizon,
only sky and hinted at sea...

Arrived here without compass,
having tumbled, pilotless, along...

Coastlines lie in wake
from memories we've made...

ocean waves
advance then retreat...

I use pastels. Blues, smeared
with grey, white, some amethyst...

Weary and on a fishermen’s boat, cap pulled down over eyes. Do you remember when we...

Under the bridge are the Welsh Grounds,
shadows below the surface...

To and from a river: a stone,
agate; a starving winter sky...

I dreamt
the oracle of oceans...

this is the song
of our humpback hearts...