Light Is A Wave That I Ride

I bring you the sound of the waves underneath my board.

I bring you my solitude — hard won, necessary.

I bring you the sun, the wind, my inability to know its direction.

The wind was moving; its direction didn’t matter.

I kept moving & not moving.

I was still & not still & the light filtered through the water.

The light had mass, had weight, had rays that moved:

Lines in the water.

I thought the light was solid.

I put my hand in the water:

The light: diffuse and scattered.

Water is a liquid that carries my weight away from the city.

I ride my board, I bring you the waves of light, the sound waves,

the way the water felt heavy and solid underneath me

this memory carries me into the work week, the deadlines’ weight:

I let the waves carry my weight as I find my words for this work.

I hold the blue & black striped dragonflies that sat on my blue & white board.

Can you see them? They are sturdier than they look.

Two dragonflies become one and hold their position on my board as I paddle to shore.

We are sturdier than we look, holding ourselves together with the memory of water,

of waves, of sun cutting her rays into the dark green water, the science escapes me.

I carry sun & water wave into the work week, I let it carry me, catch me as I work.

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