I tasted metal as I watched the gulls dip, swoop and hover as they do
never seeming to move.
The horizon kaleidoscopic and ending unendingly, blue upon blue.
My steed waxed so thoughtfully was my philosophy and so it lay parted besides itself
and beside of me.
No longer at one with me alas but free of me and two.
I counted crescent moons, rows of perfect grooves. Touched them with trembled tips thoughtfully and felt my waters moved.
I eyed the ties that held me fast, the stirrups to my steed. They scream reason for this coppery taste that perfumed the mighty endless, careless blue.
The ride chased and caught, the summit peaked too soon and free I flew. Not you, you clung too long and then you flew; at me.
The clarion call I made to wildlings cruising deep, distant aloof and wingless birds set to clean up.
Thoughtless acts birth thoughtful moments, epiphanies of horizons extended and extending; unending.
Philosophical fragments of ponderings, wondering deep and dark and blue.
I reason no more thought of me than I of you to come to see what happens in your blue, and briefly touched.
Richer we are now.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Just play the music to Jaws in your head whilst reading this surfers lament…