Always another wave beginning to rise
More than the minutes of a surfer’s life

Ever a swelling toward the strand
Followed by one more and another

Each curls over the returning surf
Lifted by wind and swayed by the tide

Each unfolds its separate form
To scatter and seep into sand

As every comber ever curving over
Might be the one picked by the man

Who scampers upright on his board
To glide the scrolling edge

This time and again and once more
Hurtling toward the dusk

And the return to his sandy floor
To his hunger and thirst looking toward

The next morning the next cusp
As it rolls in a rush to the shore

Previous Lives, Red Mountain Press