I think they’re mocking me now.
layers of flat, foamy trepidation;
sweeping slowly over the sand,
under my shoes
and fizzing out into the air.
There’s no wind to whip them into shape
nothing to provoke the water,
just eyes skimming over the surface
and the crack of thunder overhead.
Are these the same swells
that cut teeth out of the cliff face?
and beat the shore into retreat?
Does any of that fury
The waves do not answer.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here
but the longer
the further out they pull me…
It’s not until my scarf whips up into my face
and the sky is dark
and my socks are wet
that I realise something has changed.