My family and I recently had the opportunity to vacation in Florida and visit the Atlantic. Watching the evening tide, I wrote this poem. I hope you enjoy it.
In time for the spring performance,
the evening light settles in.
She stretches, fingertips reaching,
each pull longer than the last.
Her line stands, row after row,
rising, bowing, rising again,
each crest a deeper curtsy,
each return less complete.
They follow, one after another,
measured, deliberate, near,
pressing just beyond their mark,
as if the stage were drawing them in.
The applause begins to gather,
low at first, then swelling,
a murmur turned to thunder,
rolling forward without rest.
Then the crash
and the stage gives way beneath it:
bravo,
bravo,
bravo.