Tidal Marsh
This world is white and blue and green,
and the air so sweet it makes me dizzy,
clean as the herons whiter than bone;
reed grass moves as if a spirit breathed upon it
this way then that, as the tide sweeps in
or leaves. Grass sways from blue horizon
to blue horizon, and when the moon
calls the waters to sea, oysters reveal
their secret beds, and shrimp float
away to come again. Brown birds vie
for what is left, then fly away,
and an egret stands silent as a cat.
Now the sky is hot pink, rippled with gold,
layered with purple haze.
Everything waits as sunset fades,
lulled into the marshland's peace.
Sue Scalf
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