Pulped promises and draining tidal waters

(i)

a bleak waterway
when I first crossed to the island
many years ago

weeds and silt choked the estuary

water birds flew on
and barely skimmed the surface

broken reeds
struggled for footing in remnant pasture

a solitary bird-hide
with cut-out walls to scan the empty sky —
was this where visionaries came to dream?

low tide exposed stark new timbers —
one and a half kilometres reaching out
over old levee banks and rivulets —
indenta walkway still alien
indentto its landscape

(ii)

this year I return
indentstepping with care
over stained and seasoned boards —
indentwire-covered in parts
against the treachery of slime and frost

now I enter a shifting world of reeds
that almost form an arch above my head —
indentI hear tiny birds
chatter and scold as they dart in and out
indentsetting the seed-heads swinging

look into the depths
indentand here is chaos —
vertical/diagonal/horizontal shafts
of reeds — Phragmites australis —
indentlike a festival of box kites
indentdisassembled

(iii)

on the island
traces of European settlement
are folded in time
indentlike the leaning plough
you find embalmed within an oak

move on to the far side and here
throughout its length
the main channel of the Tamar
ebbs and flows in tidal sweeps

near its mouth
indentthe wood-chip mills with gaping jaws
indentstrip chew and spit out forests —
while I walk
protestors gather in city parks
to march with banners —
indentpromises are processed — pulped

(iv )

as the tidal waters drain
indentall is witch-talk ooze and suck
indentwhen there is a lull in the wind —
a break from endless gossip with the reeds —
indentevery sound is liquid

now the water birds swoop low to feed —
indentchestnut teal sieve the shallows
like teams of weekend lawn mowers bent to the task —
indenta white-faced heron repeats its image in reflected sky
while beneath the bridge
indenta black swan spins against the current
in a taffeta flare