Ocean

I needed the ocean,

and it,

me.

The water rushed over my feet,

cool,

a stark shock to the toes,

while the salted breeze

billowed my skirt

and played with my hair.

Blue-green in the morning,

the glass plated waves

mimicked the clouds

that swirled just overhead.

I laughed and reached up,

half expecting my fingertips

to graze the cotton-soft puffs.

Sun-sore by afternoon,

I sat in the sand,

drawn eyes searching the horizon.

There was a smell,

I think,

that told me a storm

was riding in on the tide,

my name, 

a furious whispers

on the tip of the tempest.

The sun's battle was lost by four,

and the angry waves

whipped around my ankles,

cold, black,

and heavy with hate.

The air, 

burdensome and stale,

lent nothing

as the tide dragged me

further into the sea,

the lines of my heels in the sand

washed instantly clean

as though I'd never been there at all.