Storm

Rosy goes the dawn

Upon the updrafts
seagulls wake and call

And I alone, against the break

Hold tight against
a coming squall

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Landlocked

she gathers mushrooms
for they remind her of oyster shells
but too soon, the rain dries
and the sun takes
her sea away

[Fiction] Homeward Bound

Deborah sunk her toes into the wet sand where the edge of the water lapped in enticement. Fifteen-odd years since she had smelled the brine of the Sound, the suffusion of salt like a fine powder tickling her nose and down into her lungs. The pulse at her neck fluttered and something else she had not felt in a long time.

Two warm hands cupped her bare shoulders where the sun had tanned them brown.

“Come over,” George whispered and kissed her behind her right ear. “The kids have a birthday surprise in the bungalow.”

Deborah laughed and turned, kissed him fondly on the cheek where there was stubble. He’d been clumsy that morning shaving, all sleepy-eyed and lazy and adoring. Tropical paradise could dull even the sharpest of men.

“In a minute,” she promised.

She watched her husband lope back to their rental house, until even the speck of him was gone. Then with shaking hands, she opened up her canvas bag and dug beneath the sunblock and extra towels for an old ratty sealskin. She took a deep breath, felt the gills around her neck open fully, threw the skin like a shawl around her, and ran for the ocean.

Di-Ah was going home.

Mirror

Which is the mirror
in which Artic beauty
contemplates herself?
The soft shush of the sea
or the dying embers of a sky
foamed with spray
or white clouds
each as to another.

Seascape

I refuse to believe
in the lack of even
the gentlest zephyr
or swelling tide of sea;
surely you fool me with
a calm ship
on an acrylic —
See!

Seashells from a Distant Shore

For a souvenir
you brought me back
a bed of shells

Each one unique
Each one pored over

Fretting you’d not find one
I would like

I like them all
but your thoughtfulness
most of all

Seaside Augury

espying abandoned boats
on the shore
the visitor worries
that the tide will come in
and carry them afar

the locals laugh
tap
their bare wrists
and point towards
the sun

Sunset Brew

Orange pekoe tea
Sandpipers flying in vees
Against the sunset

Sink or Swim

Adrift on sea fog
A fisherman stands on deck
Secure in his boat
Comforted by his aplomb
I too, float, though also lost

Rebel Lovers

The sea at
low tide
whispers
beyond our feet.

I walk
carelessly along
the boardwalk
with you.