Its ebullient froth,
Slammed by the cross-swirl,
The punch it packs
In the plexus I lack,
What I haven't looked through
The darkness yet
To detect.
My feet lift from the sand
And currents carry
Where there's no center anywhere,
Just the turbulence of forces turning
On themselves
In a kind of longing,
Letting the suppressed
Through open eyes.
The sonar of the gulls
And whistles of the lifeguard
Blend as one long warning
Of the lure
Of endless surf
And inexplicable currents
And a constant gasp at meaning
As vision is immersed.
Along the shining crest
That arches up so firmly
To collapse,
Distant shadows
Of the riders
Slicing lines
Across the swells,
The naturals
Who cannot think of what it is
Or imagine what could be,
They only know that to get from
Point A to point B
Requires a certain stupid bravery,
A faith despite the roar
In their delivery,
Though they dissolve as well
In foam
Until another pipeline forms
To carve themselves and their boards
Inside the frieze of time.
