The beach is a plate of
seashore glass, crescent
mooned around
the bay.
The ocean heaves:
azure
spume foam white
liner grey.

My back to the void
I look at the green park
beyond the grainy esplanade.
Beaten trees
mermaid sculptures
a dwarf dressed as a clown
children dancing
then the wave strikes:
it does not so much surge
over me, as I pass through it
like a stone.

I leave This Time and engulfed
in the water
breath aqua life and
ponder marine thoughts.
Give respect to the fish and
from whence we came;
paint the best painting
I will ever paint
write my opus
love my all
think beyond science
and see how we have got it all
so very wrong.

Then the loud water subsides.
Its kinetic energy fizzes in
illusionary colours around me;
its soda crackles in the slum
of my nose.
Somehow I have remained
standing as the ocean swirls
around my thighs.
River currents of potent calm,
synchronised,
the sun like a smudge of God.
The beach glistens in a shifting
veneer of trickling sea.
Maybe now it’s time to test
my nerve on the shore.

I focus on the monument.
It glistens and calms on the
hill beyond the park:
a free winged seagull perches on it,
staring out to sea.
At me.
I laugh and mutter
‘Up Periscope.’
Somehow it seemed the right
thing to say,
but what, what to do?

Maybe if I touch the monument
I will be told.