Fury – A poem.

Waves try to steal her.
Crash into rocks and spray,
blue fingers twist and knurl.
Try to catch red hair.

Her skin is crisp—
salt baked by the sun.
But her eyes do not look
at Poseidon’s rage.
She drops her robe and steps,
naked, into the sea.

Quiet,
the ocean cradles
her.

JKolasch