Quay the Squall

By
I lay my body
across the white of the catamaran, and
look at the dead space between us spread out
like the Pacific between Okinawa and Cali.
I close my eyes for a moment, hearing our
children douse themselves in the
aqueous salt of the sea.

We've been clashing tides lately,
coming together only under the toes
of our children. I pull high
waves out of the small drop offs,
demanding them to dive or swim
sideways, while you let them drift
gently in your own current. We are
like the approaching squall I see
brooding dark acros the ocean.

I dive my hand in the torrent of
your hair to tell you.
But you have already seen it.
"It's heading west. It's alright."

For a moment, I protest,
until I see you close your eyes again.
Your face nuzzles into your elbow,
and you drift in that peaceful current
I am used to seeing; suddenly, I feel a
warm wind easing the storm away.





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