The Ocean

While the wind flings sand,

and the seagrass whispers

across the foam’s mottled signatures…

I imagine the ocean, a broad, full expanse,

dark grey and cold as a remote father,

far waves and fathoms of water,

cold birds acquainted with winter,

and warm seals in their blubber,

emerging as if their heads were hatracks

for wattle and weed.

I imagine a deep broth of communing

eyestalks and feather dusters,

granite-hued denizens in their closets,

interned worm, and horny fish with scaley clusters;

whipping horny tails,

where the bottom sand blows

– in the surge and ebb –

and blusters.

Where lobsters claw like aged boxers

in the bottom’s dappled light

…a little to the left,

a little to the right.

The fish move ever so slight, like speckled clouds.

And the crabs skitter sideways.

                                                            by Carl Nelson