Tides

Silent as virtue, the tide enters the coast —
holding back at first, a grateful guest,
then assuredly at home, ready to bring
its whole life swiftly in. As with bird flight —
always a new concordance of darkness,
light, as they split and meld, fertilise
each other. At ebb tide, scuffed waves circle
the stream's centre, push back to where breakers
hook down on mirrors slick with sun. Clouds mass,
tumble, in a fast sky; ibis sway on
thermals, hierophants of a primal peace —
the lilt of their languorous black wings
a footnote in the unwritten book of days,
part of the tremendous drift of things.