Waiting

finally, there is no rhythm to the tides anymore.
when they come in, they are tired, hurried, eager
to leave again.

i am waiting for the tides, like the steel wool
thunderclouds, flattening themselves
into sheets as they reach shore.

listen now: this is the tide, an unfamiliar engine roar
tamping itself down on landing, undecided, roaring back.
this is the storm, here, already: no more waiting for it

to come to pass.