When The Black Glass Calls

There was a beach...
he saw a crab, cloistering itself
on a raised dune of sand.
There it sat
and stared,
clicking its
ridged, red claws
snapsnap
snapsnap

There was praying to be done,
of course.

The ocean left a blurred,
blackened shadow
on the white sand,
that stretched far out of sight
down the shoreline.
The clouds
hued with shades–
what you find under a rock.

Yes, there was praying to be done.

There was also, off
in the distance,
where the sky met the churning face
of the sea,
a shape...
A small thing, moving
languidly–searching.

The ocean was black
and alive
with hysteria of the fathoms.

“Yes?” He whispered.
Seraphim swam in his eyes.

The shape grew bigger;
swelled in surreality, and
the crab clicked once more,
then scurried away
into the black glass that left
a shadow on the sand.

He heard the horizon
moan with anticipation.
A gasp.
The bosom of the sea
swelled and heaved.

“Yes??!” He screamed.

There was praying to be done,
he knew, and yet
he stared
and screamed,
pointing his finger at the sea.
“YES?!!”

The shape grew bigger–
bigger...took semblance,
no longer shadowed
could see
he could see
his mouth stretched
yawned
lips peeled and cracked
with the thunder of it
bigger
more mass
more similitude
more shape
more shape
MORE   Blotting dabbing sun
out
and he screamed
and he screamed
pulled his lips
his hands hunted deeper
his tongue flapped like a fish
and each lap of the waves
sent him into convulsions.

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