DAILY PHOTO: Balinese Cliffs
2
bulging undulation of water, the rolling topsides of wave bumps catch a blazing white shimmer every square meter is in unending flux, shifting & rolling, growing & shrinking the wake of a ferry causes wave to roll into wave at odd angles, sending the ripples into a cross-hatched madness of bobbing water i watch for hours and the same sea never repeats
so much power
in a lazy rolling wave
as it tips into a tube.
a column of
weighty water
piledrives:
pressing one down &
holding one in a
back-shaped divot
on the sandy bottom,
a forced pour
onto face and chest,
flowing & rolling
over both sides with
such easy skill
as to negate a
frantic, thrashing
attempt to roll free.
You see that one ship out on the horizon,
and feel that unique tang of loneliness.
There's far, far too much blank sea to thrive in,
and all the makings for keen ghostliness.
That boat will soon be passing beyond sight,
and maybe it will falter, maybe sink.
The sea has created a million plights,
and hazards there will honor no strict brinks.
In Shakespeare, ships are lost, often as not.
See: "Tempest," "Merchant," "Pericles,” and so on.
Perhaps, you'll say that today isn't so fraught
with maritime menace and sea demons.
Why more vexed than those who keep ships running?
'Cause sailors will never, ever, see it coming.