waving not drowning

 waving not drowning

every time i see a photograph of a wave i want to dive under it

to surface in a spinning look back to a far shore

to swim in the uncertainty 

to question my sanity

or should that be salinity 

for humour is a raft

gasping a laugh and not a tremor

the sky a lift and not a sodden blanket

the rain an exhilarating sting

not the pressure of a day going wrong

striding 

push after push through the surf drag

drag drag dragging back in the undertow of leaving

of striding eye ward sand ward home ward

of a breath so big that the whole world waits

for my resurrection as the waters break

the drying sand drawn in seaweed reds and greens

and reds in eyes closed under a towelled sun’s standing 

the long look back at the question

was i there was i really in there in that maelstrom 

that rebirth never changes in exhilaration 

that painting of a wave 

there on the wall

barely captures the wave’s personality

but it hangs mine every time 

and every time i return to being alive 

if only just hanging on to the mane of the white horses

in the wild stallion that is my sea