Seawalls

Sometimes of a night the sea
in scents of seaweed visits,
to sing me songs of distances unguessed,
beyond the boundaries of concrete walls
that stand for hubris blind to failure.
I am everything you are not, the ocean whispers.
I can take the things you make,
your houses most especially,
and toss their decks, discarded wrecks
on broken roads. You claim
to gain serenity from simple sight of me
on summer days, but deep within your eyes I also see
your fearful worship.

Tomorrow, my dog and I will go, well-clad,
to answer the endless water. What I will say
is not yet clear, but something it will have to do
with the seawall of my skin,
and the kinship of the ocean
to one that swells within.

January 23 2016