Random Thoughts at Kickboard

At the level of the sea,

The sky's a filmy sheet of foam

That drapes into a treed horizon.

A disquieting kind of harmony.

To ply the lane with board alone,

And cut the plain like a machete,

Is a metaphysics to atone

For one bled into the other.

Violent splash and flipper-purl,

Vast unfogging of the mind,

Readings of a deeper kind,

Emerge unbidden from the whorl.