Grey clouds sink
into the sea, I think
they dye the waters, too,
to match their own cold steely hue.
White surf grinds
pebbles into grains quite fine
'Cause without salt the swirling sands
make up a soup that's rather bland
Wave tops crash
whipping creamy foam, they mash
sea creatures into paste
then mix in sand and salt to taste
'Tween split cracks
in timber planks of wood sea shacks
the cold wind sneaks to make a play
at stealing warmth from us today
Sand-drifts storm
driftwood bulkheads. Wind torn
sea grass holding fast
in hollows safe from gusty blasts
Clam shells gasp
for breath, shell hinges rasp
as op'ning to the rising tide,
they fill their gills till satisfied
Solo bird
above the waves; I heard
pounding surf accompany
a cawing seagull symphony
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