Breaking

At first perhaps just flash and bulge,

hint and tense within the swells,

the squinting sense that something’s there.

Then they break, in sprays of prey,

a rhythm of slash and veer,

the edge of thrilling violence.

Birds burst like flames driven from waves

by the cycling click of coursing teeth.

It’s a pulsing cell of splash and boil

flayed to foam in the center,

all flank and tail and flat black eye.

At the edge my eye hooks a single fish

burst up and flex in sun, tumble down the wave,

and fall alone in empty calm and--gone.