Surf

After lunch I find a sandy seat amidst pigface

And sand grass where birds flit bush to bush,

The swell of the sea white waves surge in lines

Along the coast collide or overtake one another,

The sounds are huge tell of earth’s great scale

Sunday swimmers struggling with undertow

Blues of water rise and are swamped white foam

Big breakers but all I hear is the inexorable obedience

To physics that makes and unmakes

Large surf strong rips gnarly pits,

Some surfers work it walk it near the point

Who tell reef from water turmoil, waves rise

Each somehow a little different from the last

Fall fast or crash into dripping pulpits and plinths.