foam slipping west on a skin of saltwater
held back from the sea by the wind
petrols in pairs all angles and slant
all effortless speed and then gone
the sound of the sea
the sibilant churn and the vowel
sing me the sea let me hear it
no rhythm at all from the east
no meter or rhyme in this sea
but the heave and grind of the surf
but the salt and the madness of we
