Churn

The Sand River, a high high-tide,
and day-old storm residue
come together at the harbor mouth
like an awkward family-gathering

and churn the ocean into chaotic waves
and froth, breakers roar in
straight over the bar, half the jetty
is submerged. Pelagic cormorants

on the few high spots stare
at the churn and wait out the chaos.
There’s something in the water,
the river won’t stop pushing,

the residue gets tired and goes to sleep,
and the tide leaves in a temper.