tidal mud

low tide

Mt. Iliamna, low tide

I couldn’t resist
the mud between my toes will wash off
today will be over and there won’t be a thing
to set it apart from the other days
except this one short poem
about wasting another day sliding around barefoot
on the silty tidal mud
like a child
this memory will be filed out of place
alongside others from when I was much more used to
feeling the scratch of rocks and shells
wading in water so cold, it hurts
cheeks the color of the new sunset
not sure why these things are fun at all
but they always have been

the reasons why
mean less now than they ever did

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