the rain falls as sheets and shivers,
the scrape and pound of wave on stone.
the wind is whistling through the harbour,
halyards clattering, anchors thrown.
a stormy june day diary, the beach:
plunge, spill, surge.
crescent, curl, submerge.
the sun is climbing cliffs and clearing mists and
the sea is promising to make you more alive than anything else.
an iribarren breaking into beauty.
and the cormorants know it, without needing to be told,
they’re at home in the waves.