…but there is a line
You must not cross nor ever trust beyond it
Spry cordage of your bodies to caresses
…The bottom of the sea is cruel
Hart Crane ~ Voyages I
It was always enough just to see the sea to stand mesmerized at a lapping tide the tickle of water coiling ankle deep and that motion near and far, near and far - then marking out the last line of defence we'd bucket up a castle where weed and shell lay drying. I like to watch the waves circle and stalk the rocks like wolves slinking through cracks, leaping crevices just to linger on sandy bottoms in pools and in these dioramas, a small diver's world crab, shrimp, snail, a fish head and always gory red anemones tentacles withdrawn. It's more than enough just to paddle barefoot for the deep stows its perils and there beyond the sandbars a myriad wrecks crumble down the ages. Out on the horizon, a swift summer storm joins forces with the sea, to fling and swamp the little sailboats silent running for the shore.
Winslow Homer’s Summer Squall inspires this poem – one of Merril’s options for her Poetics prompt: Sun, Sand, Storms, and Celebrations: Summer Ekphrastic