Tide, a poem

Tide

The heartbeat of the moon is measured in
the steady rise and fall of tide on coasts
I’ve never seen. Ah, but I hear that pulse;
it finds its echo in my yearning blood.

She sinks below horizons, seeking seas
unknown save in my dreams and songs once heard,
forgotten now, save for their whispered rhythm.
That also rises, falls, fades from these shores,

but never stills. The moon returns and I
and all the seas will follow in her dance.

Stephen Brooke ©2024