Estuary

Seahorse clouds, a fingernail's sliver
of moon. I wade through green swathes as if
reclaiming pieces of memory; as if
my brain were reconstituting itself —
cell by cell, rebuilding rooms; unlocking
others, long-sealed, to let this sea light flow through.
My feet step from slurred prints, body tensing
before each wave with its rags of seaweed,
unseen flurries — sometimes a fleeting sting.
Out on the beach, the sky's a jigsaw this new tide
will fill in, spread to a silver-blue cloth.
Between low rocks, slash and eruption,
upsurge of chimerical white, chalices of
cloudless jade stilled to translucence.