The green belly of a wave stretches, tautens
Under its own mass–filaments or nerves
Of paler green stretching to their limits
As the body, relentless, falls forward.
But the wave is a hybrid creature, its
Sober underside carrying a head
That’s white and airy, that boils steadily,
And the head grows as the belly slides under,
And the whole thing gives up, flopping itself
On the rattling shingle, tossing froth,
While behind, what had seemed a mere bulge
Is the new wave, its skin stretched to breaking.

[Posted in Philadelphia. See also: seascape and Martha’s Vineyard, August 2009]