Waves thunder in,
a blue-black
green world,
and I stand in its midst.
Stones clatter from the tidal bed,
turning over,
in their own neap.
How to own,
just then,
that dark love was coming.
How to stand against it.
I go every day to the ocean now,
sword in hand, or a finely-cut branch.
I can stand in its midst,
utter a war cry to the bleak rush.