sea in april

there was no white on the sea that day
i grew right out of the pigeon clay
to a drifting mass of ruffled and satiny grey,
unbroken
like pressurized smoke
contained and compressed and unspoken
choked
chained swirling to sand and stirring to earth,
and locked flightlessly onto the land.

Then the shore,
and there all the water climbed up on the waves
and swelled as it rose, and heaved 'till alone
it swayed
not a break, nor a fault
for cohesion and simmering, crackling pattern
made gravity grind to a ground-breaking halt
hanging upright and frozen ablaze
with quiet grey light.

Then the weight
began to fold and crease in on itself
and it dropped all its poise and it shattered and fell
collapsed in a net of spidery froth
spun out in a cloth, across the stones
the water ran
the water reached
and gently it crushed all the curious bones.