Point of Tide
Dusk, the lobster boats swing at anchor
drift this way, that
the small sails fluttering in the slack tide
Floating in the still air
a blue heron unhinges his slender legs
drops to the mussel-strewn shore
The darkening clouds are mirrored in the sea
Soon the rising wind will crumple
the reflections of the wandering hulls
The tide will turn the boats like sheep
the water creep up over the mussels and the rocks
and the heron will lift into his lovely flight.
Lari Smith