Gunpowder blue sky
yet no blue, really
except for the blue
wrapped into the spectrum
of black to grey to white

A storm blows in
the sea in an uproar
no holds barred
no remorse for the cormorant
or the gull
in these fierce swells

We know nothing of power
until we know the sea.
We know nothing of journeys
until we journey upon waters
as wild as these.

Odysseus would have shied
from this salt caldron
from these wind-tossed waves
stayed on some pleasant rock
imbibing the lotus.

And who would blame him?
Only a fool
or a sailor without hope
would venture into the teeth
of this tempest.

And that sailor would have cause
to regret his choice
would understand the depths
of his folly
as he slipped into darkness
and clasped hands
with the legions of the drowned
asleep in the swirl of the sea.