Low Tide

We go out into the cold
and black of a new-moon night
climbing down slick boulders
to feel our way toward the sea,
three women seeking treasure.
We are blind except for the lamps
arrowing through curtains of fog
we make with our breath.
We follow instinct toward the water’s edge
which has receded so far
we cannot reach it.
The smell of her, though: brine
and blood, seaweed and salt
tells us Ocean is near. She
mirrors our own scent and soul
and we cannot steal from her…

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Memoirist, poet, shamanic practitioner currently residing on Turtle Island.

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Kara B. Imle

Kara B. Imle

Memoirist, poet, shamanic practitioner currently residing on Turtle Island.

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