Unfathomable,
ancient crone of the sea,
brooding
inexplicable dark silence.
Skies, silent breaths, above her.

Near the shore,
she boils over,
white foam spews on black rock,

black rock which itself was spewed
eons ago
hot, coursing, deep from the Mother.

This Ancient one does not use words.
She growls and foams and pounds.

The hill rumbles.
No one offers explanation.

She takes
in the flash of a sneaker wave,

and then under the morning sun
she floods the rocks,
again and again
– this time with frivolity.
Rivulets sing from every crevice,
streaming in unison.

Down the beach, her moods gentle,
force turns to caress,
ceaseless smoothing,
crooning,
whispers, whispers.

And in town, she lies docile
appearing domesticated,
plain as day
in a way

as we forget.