Boat and paddle
tucked under an arm,
I walk down the beach.
Many years before
theirs were skin and bone
mine is fiberglass.
Dusk settles, storm rises;
strong south wind meets
strong north tide;
the half mile of ocean
between beach and island
is whitewater;
windblown froth off
stacked wave tops.
Sealed in
I slip into the fray.
Ferrying out,
mistimed moves spill me;
I roll upright and
shake like a dog.
I hurl downstream
in an aqueous world,
impossible to tell where
ocean ends and air begins.
Only when I turn back
toward the beach
do I see
I have not moved at all.
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