Why are breaking waves white,
In the night, in the dark?
I am walking on water.
Not religiously, just walking
On a film of water borne.
Vast hard sand barely sloping seaward.
The grey of evening has slipped
Into the darker grey of night.
Cloud bellies soften into spindrift mist.
The billowing sheets of rain taste of salt.
A watery gesture,
Unstill, sea scented.
Distant headlands are black smudges,
Between the heaving, chanting waves,
And mute undulating sky.
The roar of the surf is constant,
Yet nuanced. Enfolding, frighteningly persistent.
My clothes are heavy with rain,
Yet I float.
The wind is fierce in my face,
But it will bear my weight.
Everything is water, the restless seeking water,
Seeping, tumbling, surging, flying.
I would prefer to be the rock... but I am not.