From a blue so deep the sky
burns in envy, to a gentle gray a shade
darker than the compact clouds above,
every few hours you don a different
dress, striped or solid, white-
laced or embroidered by emerging
sea stacks.
Rolling in pianissimo or raging
to shore, you are best as mirror
to my internal churn. I write edgy
footprints at your door, the tide takes them.
You are worst when your hypnotic
motion lures—waves crawl ashore,
slide back, encore—
then slaps me with cold water.
If fog shrouds you, your roar
lets me know you are there.
Unless I hear you,
how can I be sure of anything?
Praised be You, Brother Ocean:
you fill me. No other so close,
so close to me.
By Simona Carini
Born in Perugia, Italy, a graduate of the Catholic University of the Sacred Heart (Milan, Italy) and of Mills College (Oakland, CA), Simona Carini writes nonfiction and poetry and has been published in various venues, in print and online. She lives in Northern California with her husband and works as a data scientist at an academic research institution. Her website is https://simonacarini.com