After the painting by Rick Amor
Wait. Sometimes the waiting seems interminable
But that is the trick with water. The dark
Gathers up your apprehension and you seek
Some other way of confronting, if you are able,
The idea of storm. It is not possible
To think of wind and rain without every black
Possibility of destruction. The bleak
Sea ensures that. This always was fate’s timetable.
Sometimes the storm passes out to sea,
The real ocean, and you are left with ragged clouds
And perhaps scuffed sand. There are no words
For either relief or regret. You have to be
Content with failure. The posts of the old pier
Have withstood storms and hot dry winds before.