beneath sea soaked feet,

rough and glassy grains leave hollows

as they tumble, a sandy swirl,

into the rounding.


If you listen to their leaving —

this grainy rattling of what was —

all the rumblings of the deeps 

join the hum:





When you sink into

the gravity 

of each eroded


a universe beckons, 



as the sun sets fire to a 

restless sea

and clouds brood above

like smoke —


even then, 

within a flower-stained sky,

the tender moon encircles 

your rising.

Yurt dweller, parent, partner, writer. Knows some things about medicine, life coaching, teaching, and the wilds.

7 Comment on “Tiding

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