the alert, can see them coming,
their backs arched, and rolling
as they rise up, and out of hiding
heartless, it’s the ocean’s spirit
that drives them away
from that boundless horizon
to this deserted,
lonely,
stone cold
island

dripping briney salt
and brushed with wind
Poseidon’s steeds, emerge
fully, and finally
poised in anticipation
for the stampede, the Crashing
the Splashing, and the Roaring
of waves Smashing on
a sand whipped shore

milk white forlocks spill
Forward,
bowed heads with frothy manes
Lead the Fall
the wall of water topples

the stallions, mighty and regal
stumble, their legs beneath them sunder
in spurts of mist, and wet spray
from their wounds
Cascades plumes of
rumbling tumbling Water
that reclaims the beach,
and sucks deep the sand,
the pebbles,
the shells,
the message with its bottle,
and the gasp
of my awed breath