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’