Compensation

I who yearn
To view the sea,
To gaze upon
Madly churning billows,
Their tops lashed
Into heaving white foam,
Am denied that wish.
But it is my privilege
To turn the faucet
Of the kitchen sink
So that water comes;
And, hands cupped
To catch the turbulent,
Swift-flowing current,
Let it pour over them--
Churned into heaving
White foam
Not unlike that
Of the sea.