The Wave

that rocks on the reef
in the slack and black of a beginning
that quickens and awakens and arises from beneath
in a surge-mass of dense billow that heaves toward the sky
until force-born blown outward thrown upward against the slate-laden sky
breaking to sweep a green curl that coils roils forward falling sprawling
spilling a slide on sand… hard on the mountain slams this sledge-birth of grey
that roars its awareness that dims in the spray
of the death that floats down
from the last white memory
of mist.

PoetryBrian Flatgard