Of Ingrained Tide...

This borderland of sea and sand

Is hinged to a divide

Where breath by breath we wield the death

That planes an ingrained tide

Until at last the scythe is cast

That severs Now from Then

And we proceed beyond the Need

That ingrains mortal men

Time’s one-way track does not wind back

One step from where we are

It flows toward a place outpoured

Without border or bar

Beg, borrow, trust where morrow-dust

Soon cakes beneath our stride

As wise and fool both grip a tool

That planes an ingrained tide

© Janet Martin