Caveat: Poem #903

America’s edge beetles downward,
descending continental slopes,
surveying seething waters,
and removing her clothes,
while whales bite her toes;
she tumbles and
bounds into
cold, bold
sea.

Sea
leaps up,
seething forth,
frothing, angry,
grasping at legs, arms,
ready to dismember
the hopes and dreams of calm trees,
which present themselves with aplomb –
even a grave, introspective joy.

Joy’s easy on the jumping ocean:
bits of water weave the chill air,
the great boat’s steel keel grinds, thrusts,
climbs green-gray, kelpy hills
and beats down the beast,
the humped, formless,
torturous,
wanton
foam.

Foam
wraps ’round,
entangles
her lissome limbs:
she surrenders
to the sea’s suggestions,
embracing the chaotic
frozen surges of lost borders.
The edge undefines America.