A Sign
Move slowly down to the sea.
A solemn procession, silent,
Dressed in black, hooded.
They wait at the water's edge
For some sign of recognition.
The waves lap around their feet,
Unmoving as the sea rises up
Higher and higher, they wait.
Then - at chin height - the tide turns
And the sea slowly retreats.
Satisfied, they turn away
Confident they have seen a sign.
[First published in: Cauldron Issue 316 Spring/Summer 2007]
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