Surf

Black flies squat amid the green sheet ripples

Searching for a certainty denied by the foam.

One is tumbled; mouth crammed with grained salt

A sour aftertaste at the root of the tongue

Sand in the cavities.

A soft thumbprint sheen haze hangs against the tenuous surface

It curls into a fist and dissipates

Over the wounds of swells and eddies

As sure as the preparing dusk.

Rock pool remnants simmer, fizzle in the glare

Lost limbs discarded under watchful rocks

'We only ever went sideways.'

You close your eyes and speak

Tongue rolls and words crash

Wipeout.