My board glides across a glassy

Surface letting the sun’s rays waltz

Over. I leave behind ebbed

Tides that slowly steal sand one grain

 

At a time and paddle further

Away from reassuring shores

Through shallow surf. White peaks spray salt

Mist on faces of fishermen

 

Far in the distance; they pull a pink

Snapper in. Opakapaka.

It’s too small to keep the captain

Shouts. I drift along side ripples

 

And witness tourists take hula

Lessons on Duke’s grass,

Taught by seasoned coconut trees.

They sway to the tradewinds’ rhythm.


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Surf Session at Waikiki by J. Michael

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TAG / CLOUD