It begins with a rumble, a head-
turning event. Only in myth can
a little boy swallow the sea.
Mirth measured by slow inhale,
the unveiling of an ocean’s floor.
Come in.
Have a seat at the epicenter,
an empty table of wonder.
Here, a skipping stone trail
of orange sea stars, flip of a coin
rockfish flopping among rivulets
of water seeping from under
the cloth, masking the heave
and split of solid legs. Before
the aftershock, the first motion,
the seiche.
A screaming surge crests,
tumbles into a trough.
Without warning, the crack
and splinter of wood, disappearance
into a wall of water,
the silence.