They say that
Robert Johnson
and Bob Dylan
sold their Souls
to Beelzebub.

It's just like
them there
preachers..
all they want
is a wee donation
of five little dollars.

Give me your poor
they say, but not too poor...
We've got a spire that we desire.

And forget the soul
of the bed sore *****.  

We want you all...
though the bone white ones,
they get First Class
on the Jesus Jet.

The strands in your eyes
reflects through the sunrise in my morn,
Your welcoming promises
I have yet to find in every step of my turn.
You’re the enticing melody
when my serene nights howl with sorrows,
You’re a seraphic presence
I imagined in the room when I’m so hollow.
Your hand fits perfectly in mine
but, how can you be so blind not to see it?
You’re so close yet still so far
well, I just can’t avoid your cold heartbeat,
Indeed, we’re just like dominoes;
I fall for you, and you fall for another.

Rising before instinct completes my sleep, rousing common sense out of bed,
I pack the car.  It's so dark the moon is still drowsing.
Soon I am in the cool ocean, arms propelling me and a surfboard,
stomach submerged and chest free through white water splashes,
then crests breaking, then up and over their shoulders
to arrive at the very place where waves emerge from calm water.

At this hour there are only a handful of other dawn-patrol surfers, all Hawaiians.
Greeting with a smile of bright grace learned from the sun, and a cheerful How'z It?
brown glowing skin tattooed with small triangle patterns on strong arms, chests, backs,
emblems of kama'aina heritage and Aloha's honor.  
A little talk story, sharing a laugh, and I sit up to take sentinal,
beginning the quiet meditation
searching the horizon for the sea's ever-changing intention.

Morning wakes color, with sleepy palms rubs away the world's hushed gray veil
revealing sky blue on royal aquamarine and palm-tree green silhouetting tropical canyon jade.
The mountain's gold-rimmed halo of mist is announcing dawn's imminent arrival.
She bursts over the ridge, arms showering the water with tiny pebbles of light
gold jewels skipping across the sparkling surface and turning silver.

It must be so beautifully curious from below, the whale's eye view here in their sanctuary.
First we see a mysterious dark shape, a nose, that morphs into an ever-expanding building,
that materializes into the entire magnificent whale suspended in our thin world
then arching over, she bursts the water, scattering dawn's sparkling treasure.

We surfers call with uncharacteristic exclamations, pointing in excitement,
So close we can feel the whale's contagious joy.
One Hawaiian woman slides off her board, to place her ear on the water in reverie;
hearing the Kahunas ancient Aumakua call.