I really almost die inside my sleep
where the whiteness of squall and sea prevail
as a gust of gulls swooped down and wassail
in the salty air through which my thoughts leap.

I crash in waves escorted by seaweed,
each lurch of surf provides an algal veil
to engulf me just as the bestial whale
imbibed Jonah in its attempt to feed.

But I wake up as the long weekend ends,
salt sweat pours down across my frantic front,
catching my breath, I swear to make amends

For my sins have forced me to bear the brunt
of failures forged by men. The ocean sends
me back to life to do what the tides want.

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