You are the sea, one I venerate
and hate in equal measure, displeasured
by fear that fends
and lures – hydrophobic circumnavigator.
Walk the steps to widow’s peak
experience, speak only to watch

each futiled stair stare, laughed at as jokes will do.
They swear you cannot come home
from something that you are.
Drag an Adirondack chair to the beach,
beech feet squarely spaced, placed backwards,
in the holes left by your tripod. A static photostat

I do not wish to see, saw all this before.
See? Saw? Seesaw, see-raw, sea chaw,
get so nauseous knowing you go
nowhere on this ride when snide rivals
sit on the same side. Seaside, landslide --
can’t sit just so, so I change my mind.

Find a camera in my bag, snap the shot
sought but not caught by you.
One lone beech chair on the beach
alone with its back to the sea.
Besieged by the scree, by the quay,
‘bye the beautiful sea.