Bottom Turn


The wind whispers
familiar
in some other tongue.
Rubber skin
clues
Achilles' heel, while a
faded horizon
nibbles
upon the senses, and
some blue Everest
awaits.

Thick swells rankle and
rally,
innate virginity
intact.
Brine-heavy whiffs
traverse
quivering unease.
Meditate and coil, as
the rage
approaches.

Tactile pronouncements
shiver
crossing Neptune’s carpet as
the mêlée ripens.
Liquid mayhem rides
sapphire mounds
plowed deep
into cobalt chill.

And then such
miracle!
Water becomes steep cliff,
turn, paddle, and trust
as
something ignites,
reflex
commands moments
stretched
as the drop unfolds,
‘twelve’ to ‘fourteen’
enough to
mame.

Practiced harmony
becomes
sublime crouch,
then twist
and drive, this
humble conqueror
reduced
beneath thick curls
spilling
heavy,
muscle’s memory
a
bottom turn
perfected.

Turquoise roars
hollow just behind,
the sun’s
bright stare
twined
with fractured spray.
This wave’s veneer
sparkles invitation as
you race
its withering claws.

And then
it quiets, this
finale
adrenaline’s flush
against
fates tempted, this
journey
eternal.
Drop, turn,
and paddle, once more
immersed
in the cold indigo
embrace
as Neptune bows.