We always ride
the present wave
into the future
whether as perfectly
poised surfer or
dragged by our
big toes through
the roiling waters.

Though riding long
erect implies grace
and fleeting fame,
no life lacks
the thundering surf
pounding out gasping
breaths, choking briny
water. We do
our best to
avoid sharks in
the salty sea,
or pulling weeds
from the deep.

No expanse voids
our silky song,
the castaways’ motley
dream parched in
watery plenty.  Most
bob listlessly in
peace deep sinking
souls surround surrender
tubular striving to
the distant mirage
on the shore.