At Low Tide
By Nancy Willard
At low tide, when Water openedher workshop, her shining hands unrolleda fabric so light I saw straight downto the loom on which it was born --
long ropes of sands rigid like muscleson the sea's floor, seeded withghostly pebbles polished like eggswaiting in weedy nests
and a crab claw hugging its shadowand the pleated rim of a clam,till the sea threw out a netthat spun itself from the breath of the waves,
in threads so fine I saw its shinein leaf and stone and the sunset's plumageand the light that was always there,waiting for me to find it.
Commentary by Kathleen Norris: Poetry gets to the heart of things, putting into words the deepest concepts. Water is necessary for life; the ocean is mother of us all. With utter simplicity, this poet takes us to the ocean's edge and makes us see, touch, and feel the gift—and the mystery—of water. …