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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