There is an estuary
where streams and wild rivers meet
and mingle with the salted tides.
It gathers all the water to it
like the afterlife of rain: inevitable!
I too must be an estuary of confluent tides—
this earth-body of antlered thoughts,
the decay of leaves: my branching mind.
Tumbling with stones and salmon toward the sea,
the rivers of the Earth move through me. J.Kirkey
Where the tides meet at the end of day, when the mists are rolling in…the estuary..
Watercolour on Arches Rough Paper…