And like the ocean you were gone again

no longer licking at my shoreline

with waves covered in admiration or adornment.

The tide was low

and I sensed you swelling into yourself

preparing for

the tsunami that would devastate

my very fragile construction.

Your horizon leaked

sunsets of tangerine

and sunflower skies.

And when the last of the dawn

presented itself

and your vexed ocean

swelled up

and swallowed me whole,

I remembered

how my mother told me

that turning my back

on the ocean

was a grave mistake.

I wish I had listened.