If I lived to surf,
did nothing but, for decades,
deontological dawn patrols,
every day, every, every day,
sitting with the brothers, beating back
a sense of meaningless ness, expressed as
necessary patience, rises, duty to wait,
tests patience of bobbing ducks,
daring a wave to promise a lift \rush,
with a flush of perfect form, wait
glance back to see the first beam
touch the swell out there
glimpse, sun kisses kelp forest
green glint golden tip long leaves
in the sun just edging past the cliff…
If I lived to surf,
did nothing but, for decades,
I would be famous, at that beach, when I die.
Morning coffee muse.
