My swamp

The Causeway

I am the mist and I am the stone.

When the gulls scream, I am up in the wet air with them,

Whipped in the tunnels of wind that flee towards the hills and, beyond, the sea.

When the tide rises, creeping through gulleys and saturating green mud,

I am the rivulets, I am the sand.

Through the marsh, through the reeds – I rise with it,

Crawling up banks and dragging myself slowly inland.

I am time and I am tide.

I turn.

And I turn.


Am I right? Tell me!

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