Tide Pool at Low Water

The sea has left a little sky behind, held in a hollow of the coastal stone— green anemone, a shell, a thread of brine, small lives continuing on their own. I kneel beside it, careful not to cast my whole reflection over what is bright. The tide will take its borrowed basin back and fold the scattered glimmers into night. For now, a periwinkle climbs the rim, slow as a thought that does not need to end. The world grows large by letting the small swim through one clear moment, and then begin again.