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Dance of the Tide

Surging, crashing,
seeping, swaying,
undulating, cascading,
crescendoing, ebbing
a festooned fan
of dazzling droplets,
urgently insisting,
then shyly backing away–
sequined spray
scintillatingly stitched
on a sapphire satin bodice,
lace ribboned ruffles
lapping over aqueous aqua skirts–
flinging a swelling décolletage,
flashing white petticoat flounces,
flirting with the stalwart ebony rock face
whose calm, steady, reserved countenance
doesn’t automatically reveal
it is totally succumbing–
overcome gradually,
utterly weak in the knees,
eroded by the brashly coy
perpetually swinging joy
of the incessantly inundating,
increasingly devastating,
dance of the tide.

by Polly Castor
12/7/16

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