Hidden Hurricanes

off in the swirl of evaporation sailing
playful with numbers and breaths heading
west to coastal waters jumping at the piers
of leisure yachts and sandcastles and buried
feet sifting into the dusty liquid

red and yellow pales tipped sideways
collecting orphaned shells from the hermits
gone to crawl into a new condo coughed
up by the tidal currents

new children with eyes wide and smiling
fondly wander from grasp too
close to the surf gathering a goo
under their nose that mimics the haphazard
jellyfish strewn between the rocks

fractures of sunset bonfires break
along the shoreline shimmering as lighthouses
would in days of candles calling
to the open water and the last fisherman
holding out for a steak and dry clothes

seagulls cry warnings into the purple
of the western havens then scatter out
of spite and greed as old fish wash
to shore ready to die again

sated waves of black grape grow larger
beyond tilting buoys riding the tide
with chained angst knowing they
will have to soon surrender to the sea

the soft breeze turns to gust and then
to gale whistling at the palms bowing
their heads in prayer as the last natives
dance around the dying embers
of ritual plywood scraps saved from
the windows of delis and coffee shops

often silent but never quiet
the sea tells of its intentions and lies
about its motives