There in the swirling torrent,
at the eye of the rage and chaos,
in the core there is a stillness,
an unremembrance of the gnats and knives
carried in the wind.
Round and round and round,
flashing lights illuminate white-capped crests
as the very surface bends to that calm,
to that void wherein there is no whirl,
Implosion of sound as forward becomes down becomes around again,
the distance from peace ages and lengthens
as the sea is wrapped and twisted further around the eye.
Above, the clouds lurch,
drunken spirals they vomit the cold, biting rain,
There is no sun beyond the cloud,
no night sky reigned with star,
there is nothing but the maelstrom,
crashing and gnawing at that silent core,
drawing everything down to the silent end.