My Surfboard

BY: UTK Second Year

Water filled up halfway, it stops at the surface, partitioner of ubiquitous clarity and dark abyss, where close-eyed I lie on my surfboard. Six-foot balsa buoying, kissing the waves and teasing the divide, my surfboard effortlessly floats: light, strong, long, right. I am ready.

To ready for the oncoming Waves, shifting and changing, formed from the froth or elevated from the floor, with my surfboard I ride. Rising, under feet grains graining, side-stepping to level, between feet grains grinding on my surfboard. We ascend and ride, I, flutter-eyed.

Low I stay to my surfboard, cutting through and swerving on that big body of water that seeks to envelop us. Angling we please it, too far we dip and washrag wipeout. Palm out and blind-eyed I reach out for my surfboard, unknowingly towards nothing yet everything known.

Needed, appearing, the seven-foot link keeps from my sinking an end. From my foot, to the surface and to my surfboard, I am reunited and rushed. Surface-broken splash, open-eyed I embrace my surfboard. Lifting up and lying out, refreshed we float, and all is good-good.

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