The is no stopping the ocean.
She just rolls in when she wants too.
Grey water matching the sky.
Like the demon Scylla
Crawled out of the ocean on her twelve legs.
You would not like me angry.
Find a body for each head.
And maybe Scylla is happy Circe changed her.
When she was lovely she kept her rage inside.
Now she can just let it fly.
All she has left: memories of being beautiful,
And anger.
There  is no mistaking what she meant.
Even when here teeth are unkempt.

These houses have stood here for many years.
High on stilts just watching the water.
Waiting for the inevitable.
It is rushing in.
They are not surprised by this destruction.
We are the only ones who thought the inevitable would never come.
But it catches us unprepared.