A break is predicted at sunrise,
two fleeting hours ours
without umbrellas.  

The resort is closed in deference
to weather reports, but we grab towels
and book to the public beach.   B

attleship clouds patrol overhead,
sinister ministers preaching a second coming
of thunderstorms sent to destroy dappled mercy  

but we don’t care – salt’s in the air!
Green waves reach to hug us!
Ocean’s here, and she loves us!  

Little heads bob in the water,
buoys with eyes disappear, reappear,
a laughing pod of dolphins.  

I walk, one eye on the beach,
pocket a huge piece of sea glass
and a delicate doily of coral.  

My other eye’s trained on curtains of rain
rolling in southeast
across the Atlantic.  

I reel in remnants of happiness,
hurry, as drops of apocalypse
splash my shoulders.