Tsunami

You’re there, aren’t you?

A hanging, trembling hemisphere of salt;
the whole breath of the ocean momentarily drawn in
and held, bated.

On the empty beach below, I prepare my flotsam phrases
with beach-combed hooks, baited.

You’ve thumbed your nose at gravity, held back a
million tonnes of hissing water with one finger tip, weighted.

I’ve sat and doodled and dreamed of you. I’ve held my breath and closed my eyes, waited.

I’m here, aren’t I?