I am sitting on a sandy shore watching the high tide.

The waves keep coming,
reaching farther and farther.
Its fingers are straining,
reaching toward me.
Someday it will reach me,
and the day it does it will give a hoot of joy,
and sweep me into itself,
like it has so many others.
As the waves reach
farther and farther,
they also reach
higher and higher.
The sea is in tumult.
It is angry with itself that it has not managed to get me yet.
The waves crash on the shore
with the force of the Dragon King and all his sons.
White sea foam splatters in all directions,
as if a mighty ogre had cannonballed into it.
A few drops of the sea reach me, landing on my cheek,
and I flinch and step backward.
I am not ready to be claimed by the sea yet, I am not ready.
I have much more,
so much more,
watching to do.
The sea recedes back into itself, angry that it has not yet gotten another victim.