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