The tide, which has always, and reliably
ebbed and flowed,
assisted by the steady gravitational pull of the moon,
has gone out
and stayed out.
I’m standing here marooned,
feet sinking in black sand
on a wide beach,
sucked down and
emptied out.
I’m waiting for rain,
for the flow of unwept tears.
I’m waiting for twilight.
I’m waiting for the total eclipse of the moon,
when the sun, earth and moon
line up in space
and the moon enters
the dark shadow of earth.
I stand cool and composed.
I’m waiting for the shadow
to transit across her pale skin.
I’m waiting for the newly bright moon
to throw
a bridge of striated light,
like a net
suspended across the sea,
across the salt-drenched, iron-laden sand.
Everything is changing.
Everything is aligning.
It will soon make sense.
Listen, the tide is turning.
I’m standing in this ‘thin’ place
between a crystalline dawn
and the fading of a million stars,
each one a death and a resurrection.
I am stripped bare by moonlight.
Sea foam curls around my toes.
Sue Ashmore © 2020
Written June 2020, Wild West Weekend
