The Next Wave


Like insects tip-toeing over the water,

Surface-tension levitating them,

These kayak meditators

Move along the top of the water,

Waiting for the next wave

That will provide the long ride

All the way into the beach.


Right now, the water is glassy-calm,

And all the young heads turned toward the west

Will not coerce a wave.

Still, they do not release their gaze,

They do not turn toward the beach,

Or paddle in, or give up for the day.

They know their history,

They know the ocean,

They know their destiny:

The waves will come again.


I, older, await the next big wave

With fear,




And desperation.


                                                                                           (Santa Cruz, CA.: March 1998)


                                                                                  from Pit/Stops: Transformation Press, 1999