an insidious sea

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 crue
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tentacles withdrawn.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