Tidelines

Skipping

         the tideline,


a child fills

      her pockets


with bell stones,

            spare moons,

lost planets.

The sea continues


its disagreement


with the shore.

 Neither one quite

  remembers


  how it started.

The waves keep returning.

She keeps skipping.

A gull
steals

a
dragon’s lunch.

She laughs.

Beneath its scales

     birds

rise.

She follows

 inland.

Past fields

where scarecrows


practice fearing.

Ponds


   collect clouds,


dreaming.

And the birds know shortcuts


through the almost night.

One disappears


     into the pocket


of a chestnut tree.

She follows.

 In feathered shadows,

a candle


   keeps company


with the dark.

She empties


her pockets.

Bell stones.

Spare moons.

Returning planets.

The dark

remembers.