Port Enyon
Low tide surrenders the everyday,
the face we show the world recedes
into the sea.
In its place are boulders, fissures, wormcasts,
pools of green so deep they defy the clean
sweep: the pull of sun and moon
cannot diminish them.
Beautiful/ugly world;
algaed barnacles, the dead husks of
black mussels, slug-like anemones, sea flowers
yellow brown and alien.
And this is life.
When the tide turns all is flattened, homogenous.
But you and I know:
Beneath this placidity is darkness,
is decay so slow, wise and stubborn
no power on earth
can wash it away.
Negotiated Truths 