Tides Out. Tides In

Oh no, none of it is easy,
this coming and going of tides,
a repetition of loss as the tide takes away
the things you loved seeing on the shore as you walked.

None of it is easy, yesterday’s driftwood,
found art that lingered for a time.
Days, weeks, years, and then with one single storm
it is appropriated for someone else’s shore.

Perhaps they will come to love the twisted wood
as much as I. Perhaps it will be returned. Perhaps
you were only allowed to borrow it for a while
before it found its more accurate home,

or at least the next one, because tides go out,
and tides too, come in,
and you are always there on the shore,
waiting for what is to be.

About this poem.

Things run in cycles. People and opportunities come into our lives, and leave again. Now and again, when the wind is right, they come back to you.

Or a poem about driftwood. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken at the salt marshes near Provincetown, MA.

Tom