At the Edge
by Helga Kidder

Milky dawn coats the shore to the horizon
as I walk this world where earth and water
have mingled and spoken since the beginning.

Last night the moon’s globe painted a swath
of light, drawing the tide low. Enchanted,
I leaned against the railing, captured and froze
the moment in a selfie, so I could live forever.

This morning fronds of oar weeds sway
as swells roll in, break into foamy curls.
The shore shines as water slides over sand
strewn with whelks, mollusks, angel wings.

The sun pinks the horizon, drenches waves
with light. Sandpipers run, willets fly up,
and seagulls pester the porches of houses
where guests breakfast.

Life here lies in pin pricks of protozoa,
hidden, unseen, as is time
that burrows in tunnels, tubes, and bores.


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