Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Prosaic lament at the tempo of an ocean aloud.
Washing in, washing out, frothy at the mouth―
Turbulence predicted, and exiled time after time,
Onto a muddy body that dreams of the sublime
Hammocked on small hours’ vapors we grasp,
Often, on the hypnotic swaying of seagrass―
Ill-disposed cons attempting to steal a breath
Away. If unsuccessful, a single housefly affair
Spooks instead, with crisscrossing high buzzes,
Rampant pokes, which topple the dream in rushes…