Winter-On-Sea (Poetry)

The ocean is as much
as twenty-something miles away
yet I sense it swirling wild
ragged skirts of winter-grey

I hear its music too
the way it grieves and moans
beating out its widow-song
on mournful banks of stones

Shoals of fish are crying out
because they cannot sleep
they toss and turn below
one hundred sorrows deep

Small boats lie listening in
to November’s radio
the weather forecast reads
night sky’s portfolio

The sea-witch green and black
rages bitter from the north
a knife between her teeth
waves hissing back and forth

Stray icebergs haunt the tide
and echoes stir the ear
though the ocean’s freezing edge
stretches leagues away from here