Sometimes the sea comes in like a
train but today it's calm with barely
a swell, stretching out to abut
backdrop sky like the corner of
a room. Outdoors is as balmy
as indoors with the sun held in
the mist's stasis and bathers beached.
So why can I hear a moaning
out there? I can't see anything but
the ocean's communicating,
if only I could understand.
Two miles out, crowding the lip
of a sandbar, flippered dogs and
sea puppies bask and lollop, barking
and calling. Do the seals hear
scooped seaside sounds, human cries from
pleasure beach rides cut short, or music
tripping over itself, snippets
of beat, runaway syncopations
momentarily ballooning,
and wonder what jaded, idle
abstracted creatures lie inland?
