Reading W. Donways intro to his book inspired me to post this.


Still, a boy

Somewhere, there, ahead of the wave crest.
free to body surf, burning like a flare,
in the salty sea and tawny air.

The thunder breaks.
Fearless, he defies and dives deep
in the quiet lime green.

All of him, depleted,
chest cave heaving,
drag to the dune freezing.

Violet lips chatter
as the sun baked sand batters
his ghostly feet.
He is the victor, in exhausted defeat.

Through the nameless, sameness,
basking bodies, he is beckoned
by mothers breast.

Don a toasty towel and stand a king,
ordained by youth.

Prone on a blanket, praised by the sun,
he listens to the plaintive protests,
of the vanquished ocean.

Resting over takes him, the sun and sea combine.
With a subtle phase shift he dwells
in the domain of the divine.

Magical musician!
He is traveling somehow!
Through the venturi of the vortex,
a kaleidoscope of sound.

But a salt encrusted crab,
slumbered on the beach.
His soul is racing faster, finer,
further out of reach.

Past the gay crowds chatter,
over the chanting sea.
Straight up through
the absent clouds,
twirling to the soft and knowing hum.

Stitch