August Fourth: A Churning Morning

Those of you
Who make bold claims
Of knowing well the Sea:
Say nothing of blue waters
Under blistering noonday heat.

Those tepid waves
That loll and ebb
And rest clear and content,
Could never compare
With the squalling green that broke the sky where it bent.
That sunless sky where the storm was kept.

Nor could that timid bath,
Compare to waters tall and black,
With silver fingers tracing that beauty,
Which midday lacks.

You cannot claim to know the sea,
Til it has kissed you black or green.