Hale’s Passage
I cross the beach with
boat and paddle
tucked under an arm;
years before theirs were
skin and bone.
Mine is fiberglass.
Dusk settles and storm rises;
south wind meets north current;
white water between beach and island,
windblown froth from
stacked wave tops.
I slip into the fray.
Ferrying out, a mistimed move
spills me; rolling upright I
shake like a dog.
Hurling downstream
an aqueous world,
no telling where ocean ends
and air begins.
Only when I turn back to
the beach do I see that
I have not moved at all.
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