Surfing

Sitting here on the edge of a dilapidated city park
Putting a shine to this red apple
A farmer’s market apple
The land and man’s place in it
As it should be, rolled packaged with perfect purpose
In my hand like a baseball
And like a player I am working it
Linking it to the tips of my fingers
Into the palm of my hand
Till I can feel it running uninterrupted to my center
This orb now has a pulse
Undulating on a crestless swell,
No land for three days sail.

We know each other as if we are
The very recreation of the other.
As the working brings out a blossom sent
Calling it to cross my lips
Letting us touch
Imagining the bite the taste
And as in life just a tinge of tartness
And with desire
That instinct to bring it home
To take and be taken by the aliveness

Yet I do not break or give way to temptation
For I’d rather not bite down at all
Because there is no sleep without the dream.
Where that
That thin line
That invisible veil
Will break our bond
As in that moment when this apple
Lifted from my hand for heaven’s sake
Is no longer rising,
But has not yet begun to fall.

To be in nature and on city streets.
To be on crest, but not yet broke
To see the last page, but not yet wrote
Exactly
Peace and energy
It is the place we seek
But can only hold as we let go.