Poseidon, Rising (Poetry)

They come up out the sea —
                long green-webbed fingers
green as any leaves the weed might grow
grasping at the air for some blind purpose
their god submerged in darker depths below

Titanic in their scale
                these digits beckon
drip cold a crystal wash of sand and salt
a ring — aquamarine — glints like an eyeball
the stone spits blue each sun-ray it has caught

Tall waves obey — line up
                their foaming army
and troop bold colours, spur their stallions on
then charge the beaches true to rules of conflict
the old wall’s breached — defences all but gone

The tide withdraws — regroups
                such fierce ambition
as stones surrender — tumble their worn stack
well-satisfied Poseidon claims his triumph
while waters churn and boil as he sinks back