Thunder rolled offshore
by the dancing light horizon.

I sat quietly on a wicker chair.

Through the boring pouring
on that somber, humid morning
open seas were surly churning
the fathoms of the mind.

I creaked atop that wicker chair.

Facetiously; I was grieving.
Though in fact I was not leaving
the waves did seem appealing.

I spent the daze careening
on that rickety wicker chair.