The Rising Tide

The east wind drives the spring tide
Covering the beauty of the mud 
Soaked by a multitude of sins of the past,
Bringing the leftovers of yesterday's litter,
Rippling the edges of the estuary 
But leaving the edges clear
To mirror what's presently there:
 
Fronded seaweed 
Spliced rope.
Decaying wood, 
Rusting anchors,
Dilapidated craft
Crumbling brick,
 
While the tide refloats the craft resting 
From leisure and livelihood, 
With fears of flooding
But hopes of buoyancy, 
And a future that's even better than today.
 
Wivenhoe, Essex

April 2025.