From Tayport, Unmooring
Wade out to remains of less-dredged days,
suck-foot muddy time in the Tay’s vast ebb.
Reach for one belief of dry, just hinting green.
Ankle into damp flats by trans-shipped banks,
dropped deposits and deep dug needs.
Uncover hauls once cribbed from Perth.
Think nothing glacial of that transaction.
This is manufactured land, quick-built
in component pebbles, spread, made flat.
Once rendered fit for salmon nets. Long gone.
Now find a site where tenacious mussels squat.
They, in turn, appease peckish eider appetites.
A mile away, on the Ferry’s esplanade,
ask a dozen watchers what they believe.
Learn what they rarely dare to dredge of this isle.