June 14, 2019
Photo by Clayton Nottleman

A Poem by Melanie Black

Whether it be high or low tide
I go to the wetlands often
and search the western horizon
for that blazing line of light.

I am rapt in thought as the wind
whips my hair into my face,
burning tears flow from fire-struck eyes
as the herons shadowy wings

pass me by, onward over the sea.
The buoys dance in tidal flow.
I hear the echo of the bells
calling to my heart which breaks

colored fragments on the shore.
I know that I’ll leave everything behind
as my body lays among the flowers
and floats to Avalon at last.


To submit your own photo or poem, email Assistant Library Director Brittany Taylor at btaylor@clamsnet.org