The Change, Haibun Options

[JaxMyth]

Drab-olive water dimples. It is the slack on low water. Boats fret and jerk at their moorings. Gulls squabble. The trees pulse a cicada tinnitus that dulls the burble of the oyster punts. The sun becomes heavy and I move my arm off the balcony rail and onto the table. You smile and I smile. The Veuve Clicquot tastes like velvet toast.

slack water
a cicada shell
spirals slowly


Dessert. You have chosen zabaglione. I fuss with the menu, and choose what I always choose. You laugh, softly. Annoyed, I look out past the glints sliding across the flats. There, asleep in the mud, tenders, clinker-built and unemployed, dream. A fresh tang of salt cuts through decay and the mad run of the flood tide has begun. “Look!” I point. “Glad tidings ready to slap those tenders awake.” You reach, glide your hand across my cheek and whisper: “I’m more than me!”

flood tide
the mangroves walk into deeper water