Superior Poem by Caroline Misner

The waves are heaving like a series of sighs,
lifting squandered bits of sun that bruise the shore,
flecks of quartz in teal green water.
No foam survives
the grandeur of this place; a dark
island, flat and blue,
slashes the horizon in two;
if I watch it closely,
I can see it move.

Only a few hardy strands
of grass can sprout like stubble
through the grainy sand;
and the trees behind dare not
cross that line
to sweet water and driftwood.
The clouds among the hills
absorb the dusk, delaying
the redness that throbs like a wound.

At the green layer of stones
that glisten like oiled jewels
beneath the feet of bathers,
two figures, darkened by fragments
of glitter and the silver speckled surface
of waves and undulating coast,
plunge like fish into the surf
of rippled foil.

Breathless, I await for each brown round head
to bob above the water,
wary that this sea that is not a sea
may swallow my little ones,
voice and all, and take
my beloved away from me.