Revisionist Poetry – “Tidebound Renewal” – Rooted Flotsam, v.2

At the river’s low-breathed edge,
branches stir again,
grafting themselves to the hush of dying trunks,
as if the tide, in withdrawing,
had left a secret pulse behind.

Seeds, once scattered and nearly forgotten,
rise as stubborn grasses
that stipple the ground
around these living pillars—
small green vows
written in the mud.

The wind moves through
with its pale freight of sand and pollen,
and moss, and fungus,
each readying itself for becoming,
each caught in the old, bright hunger
to take hold, to bloom, to bind.

Here the river speaks without a mouth:
of resilience, yes,
but also of mercy,
of the patient craft by which life
leans toward life again,
even at the threshold of decay.