swimming at Makaha

I remember the icy cold and churning ocean of Makaha
        that first time
plunging in naively, as if he was that same Poseidon as that other
        of the sane Atlantic
I had to turn my back to him and kick hard with flippered feet
       
I turned over as I swam away from shore
         with arms already tired and shaky -
         pinged by tiny stinging jellies
as the bottom of the sea dropped out below me

I swam out and out and out to see the dolphins feed and play at break of day
          but they did not come that day

Colder than all hell, I turned back to swim to land
          I had forgotten
          the torrent waiting there for me in between
 that deep Poseidon and the safety of Makaha's shadowed land and sand,
           that churning surf around the rough and scrappy lava boulders