Comes The High Tide

Comes the high tide fire frosted to the shoreline

Covering the ancient stones with sting and tingle

Sheets pulled tight, canvas flapping thunder

Stars alight in the twinkling of her eye

She cuts the water with her prow

Swinging the boom into a feathering dawn

Sailing on crests into the risen edge of day

A chilling kiss burns splashing rock to cover

A chilling kiss before the first birdsong

Still comes the lapping tide ever forward

Running to the jangle tangle of the wetlands

As the Medina spirits up its curling mists

Before dark and mystic waters

Before the Solent’s edge has all light to see

Silent comes the tide into river, creek, and marshland

Where she rises within rush reed banks of dream