Death Wades

Our lives were of this moment…

 the wave made sure of that

 

Winter nineteen sixty-nine

 Waimea’s fury spat

 

Thirty feet and building

 the giants all had come

 

Their lips four stories high above

 too late to cut and run

 

The paddle out a nightmare

 the ride a waiting terror

 

The drop in looming zero-sum

 the wall the devils mirror

 

We made it down and set our fins

 to climb the face again

 

Our ears were deaf, eyes frozen wide

 once more to climb the mountain 

 

On top we leaned and split the crest

 last turn to surf the violence

 

The beach in sight, through foams delight

  —death wading through the silence

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

           ‘Memories Of Waimea’

 

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