The Receding Tide

In the moments before waking 
when the city was weaving
dreams of concrete,
the tide of the night receded
and left in its wake
creatures of the deep,
forms from the void.

 On the sidewalk
an oyster lay unopened,
preserving a drifting dream
from a land alien.
The blanket in its filigree
had trapped the night
just enough for a home to thrive.

 A sardine gasped for breath
in the last puddle of darkness
on the pavement.
Through the rancid stream of traffic
had she waded in the night
to sell the ministrations of love,
And now she was exhausted.

 Two stumps for feet, the Barnacle, 
clung to the uninviting shop front.
The incoming tide of day,
promised salvation.
For with the alms from the gratuitously generous
could he unleash the stupefaction of the night, 
stacked in the bottles behind him.

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