A poem concieved upon reading the newspaper and looking around in church:
Warm me sun and bathe me brine
Here where rolls the gentle tide,
Strokes the ocean bottom fine.
Close my eyes, suspended low
Between the sky and ribboned floor,
Anchored, spinning by a toe.
Yes, I saw the coming storm;
I happened once to look around–
The great tsunami taking form.
But I cannot hear a sound.
Sun feels good on eyelids closed.
Flow feels good on muscles loose.
Do not speak of things to come
In the shallow ocean water.
