Low tide and the demarcation of color is stark.
Life and death, or something that looks like it.
Looks though, can be deceiving.
Things live in the muck.
About this poem
One of my great surprises in life that is that somehow, even in the darkest portions, part of me still lived. Waiting for the change in tide.
I still count on that.
PS: The picture was taken in Rye, NH.