wish a dollar for every wave that's made it to the shore even of the oceans where i've gone underneath
where they've warned of the undertow, and not listening, bravado like an underslung jaw, the highkneeing over the curvelet short surf petering out at the sandcrabs
the further motion five feet above the chest go headfirsting into the transparency what an illusion
and finding the face now pressed into the silica a man's length away from breathable air and rubbing it into you the lesson
how do we lung the sunlit atmosphere when below it wanting to converse in its comfort on a beach chaise
-- a monkey on a warm tree limb -- but only recalling that looking up into a watery sun moving with the rip along and farther away from the call This way!
an imperative This way! just a bit to the shallows to stand and be upright at the first inhale.