surface
I.
I feel this image
swelling, swaying
at the top of my head
I want to learn to surf-
to dance the ultimate survival tango
partnered by the ocean
and by nothing any human
can make me feel,
want, regret, or hate.
II.
Half-sitting, half-standing
on the stone wall bus stop,
I read of a girl who has learned to surf,
of where and how.
The waves will be my companions,
the sea my dance floor.
I relive a visit to the beach,
late in the cooling day,
when I stopped collecting seaweed strands
to admire
the body surfer swimming out
in a wetsuit on a board
to catch the heaving water
for a ride.
III.
The memory is joy.
It eddies through a huge loneliness,
reminding me I live at low tide,
distanced from the sneaky undertow,
splashing in the shallow sea puddles,
warm, safe.
But joy comes crashing
challenge in the next swell,
and caution,
then desire-
I will almost balance them.
This night,
I daydream of surfing,
of a phrase to dance alone,
of ocean dangerously free of
human error.
SSHHWWWWSSHH!
SSHHWWWWSSHH!
