Tuesday, July 2, 2013


You walk and walk forward,
the shallows last, the breeze
on your back, the crispy waves.
Then you finally plunge and swim
and follow a line of poles
and look at the bottom of the sea,
at last at a decent distance,
that undulating sand like
the waves of a mind
or of a universe.
Swimming is a digression
in a digression, the roar
all over like an unframed
Then, back to the shore,
walking in the lasting shallows,
any depth postponed even if
you sense an embracing gaze,
and know that no sea
is ever mellow 
and the shallows can always
just give in
like the outer rim of a dream
ready to swallow.


Dave King said...

This lulled me into a false sense of security before:
the roar
all over like an unframed

And then the threat of those last four lines... superb!

Crafty Green Poet said...

yes, never to be quite trusted, the sea...