Hope.
When the hidden rip sucks out
beyond the blue swell
uncurling noisily upon the sand,
out beyond the raucous sea-birds
circling, soaring and dipping
above the white topped crests,
out into dark, trackless waste
where the moving water mountain
towers glass smooth and sheer
and over its vast plateau top
waves foam and rumble
in irresistible chaos,
then only surrender remains,
letting the mighty surge
sweep where it will,
holding in a few tiny cells
the longing for a gentler swell
to wash slowly back
into some sheltered cove
where the patterned ripples
kiss the yellow sand,
where hope fills the clear blue sky
and the whole glorious world
shines again bright and new.
Editor’s Note: This poem requires careful reading to puzzle the long, slow, unending imagery into a single, whole picture.
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