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’