Rip-Tide (revised)

There is a tide in the affairs of men--
it's rip-tide now, and all along the coast
the boats are stirring, pulling at their lines
and pointing prows upstream, like gun-dogs on
the scent. An oar goes floating past, a stray
seat-cushion fallen from some dinghy moored
at the marina. Swirls of bubbles mark
the current's covert passage undersea.

I’ve watched and known the daily rise and fall
and surfed high-water over shallow reefs
to anchor safe against the curve of land.
But now the current runs orthogonal
to long-established habits and beliefs,
the tiller trembles underneath my hand.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside