Storm Passing

The sun appeared
An hour before I left
The island. I was sweeping
The sand through a trapdoor

But I could not resist
One more walk to the sea
So in the cold wind
I went up to the beach

There was a savage surf
Coming in sideways, whipped
With foam. Metal grey and roaring
Lapping at the dunes

This is not a sea for swimmers
Not even a sea for surfers
It is only a sea for two classes :
The despairing, or the professional

Before turning back, I spoke to the sea
Seeing two split-screen visions :
One : A man sailing, pulling up nets
Two : A man drowning, disappearing in the waves

Before turning, I spoke to the sea
And this is what I said :

"Not this time. Perhaps soon.
But not this time."