Storm

 
What if he sank to depths unknown, to rise
once more until his dulling sight renewed
and stayed, although no one was there to see
from where he'd come, from where he'd been

* * *

Last night, through rising sweats which pulled
him forth towards the storm, horizons deep
deserted sleep. Low rock of hunting winds
untwisting waves, through sieving spray, unleashed

by splattered pallets, laid wide through skies
which brought white crowned baying crowds
conveyor belts of streams, sage water guides
gathering en masse to take him out

and leave behind a stranded beach, which broke
its lines through crashing stone: just cliffs endured
alone; undone by howls and bursts and gusts
propelling man to risk it all, until the

heaving pulse turned stiff. And lidded blues
disrobed long silks across a bay, to where
he stood, knee deep on shore, forever changed
from how he was.