In pensive moments, spent alone on a
wide waking dream
filled with seascapes
and bodies flopping sideways,
my boyhood calls and joy returns.

It is not in vain that again and again we ride
towards unyielding golden sands.

Again and again we repeat the motion
that to the uninitiated is
somewhere between art and sport;
somewhere between futility and here.

Something I cannot go without.

I ask them only to see:
glide to me
along wet cresting waves
and on towards an understanding of that
unending race towards shore.

It is not for love or pride,
not for friends whose goodbyes I never heard,
But to worship in the shrine that follows
the glassy shoulder.

I take it all in stride…
I ride,
My soul expanding
Boyhood calling
Seascapes forming waves to ride
places to survive
reaching forward into time;
cheer on the day and take
the weight of life away.

I ride.
Not for love or pride.
Only to take away
responsibilties–
life’s lessons learned.

Only to hear the cry of joy
released from inside.

To feel myself creating
joy with each heartbeat,
each paddle stroke,
each turn and snap
each fall and flailing
each time down a face I’m sailing.

I ride.
Not for what is out there,
But for the joy inside.