Baptism (A fresh watery reach)

(A fresh watery reach)

In this sunlit
accompanied way now
just healing, three
things with me.
Light, air, water.
Fresh watery reach.

And I carry,
solely only until
the immersive moment
clothing, camera, towel.

And the picture
already swilling within,
like kelp, languid
in rock pools.

Across there, Doggerland.
In me knowing
this place between
cold and warmth.
Ebbs, flows, reaches.
Eddies, flats, beaches.

Only so long
do I have
this landward realm.
Place my towel
to one side,
they’re here, waters.

Donate my clothing
to the mudflat.
Step forth, baptism,
camera in hand.
Breath, as surely,
honouring is done.

Lower my threshold
or, more appropriately,
tide line; back, aeons.
For there’s life
across, down, up,
weaved, in that revealed.

Forests, animal tracks.
Huts, campfires, playing.
Mending, cooking, loving.
All seen now,
belly down in
the cold Wash.

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