You see the wave coming,

And you brace for its embrace.

Wedge your feet into sand, toes curled round sea smoothed stone

And stand before the swell and the break.

 

You see the wave coming,

But the impact still shocks.

And you rock, numb, breathless, on heels,

Taste salt on your lips and shake your eyes clear.

 

You don’t see the undertow.

 

Not as you’re drenched in the spray and fighting for balance and finding your footing and struggling to stand and

 

You don’t see the undertow.

 

You feel the undertow pulling and

Your firm footing starts sliding grain by grain away from your feet

And stones catch your ankles as they beat an urgent retreat

And you notice the pulse of the sea and your own staccato heartbeat

And the next wave is rising and rising and rising

And standing up to the first one, that short lived victory,

Now just feels like defeat.

 

You feel the undertow calling

And it whispers to let it seduce you

To enfold you in its eternal and endless depth.

 

Siren’s don’t always give warning.