The thing about giant waves –
they start long before we can see them,
blown by the winds of faraway storms, then propelled
by banks and reefs, by canyons deep below the surface
amplifying their lethal might, predestined by
bathymetry to swell against certain shores.
What ancient river carved this hidden canyon
deep below the deeps, a scar in the sea bed
from lifetimes unseen. What distant tempest
sent your gaze toward me over this deep
and ancient, hidden scar, a cresting wave,
at once exhilarating and terrifying,
tall as a snow-capped mountain rising
over tiny me, strands of foam
disappearing under the white
rush coming toward me,
toward me, pulling me under
until I was lost. My breath
gone, I surrendered
and sank, powerless
against the undertow.
Why did you look at me
like that.
