We walked to Whitford Point.
April 2021 and the spring tide was fooling with us.
The marsh from Cwm Ivy to Landimore was a sea.
When we left the lighthouse sitting like the horses knee deep
in the receding tide, the marsh was a face pocked with its draining.
Through the breached sea wall the sea had ripped in both directions,
and now lay satisfied and low. The mud had claimed the driftwood,
the fences and the ripples. All was apocalyptic in the going,
but the returning again and again drew us like the tides.
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