Squint-eyed
At midday the high,
full-arching sun silvers
the marsh flats at low tide.
Even snails are silver pebbles
on the shining mud, and long
saw grasses are silver threads
waiting for the wind to weave them.
The boardwalk must be worth
millions in this metallic state.
Nothing moves. Birds hide
in their silver-reeded tents
and are satisfied.
(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society