Riding the Wave of Time

I sit in the in-between

I am neither here nor there

Nor past, present, or future

Until I am.

.

I can see the past and the moment

But not the future, where I want to be.

I surf the wave of time

between valleys,

riding peaks.

.

The wave

goes where it will.

I ache for a shore

I cannot name.

.

Drops from the wave

are minutes in chaos.

I taste the salt of hours breaking.

.

The wave is ready to break.

If I’m caught in its wake,

I’ll crash on rock and coral.

I force the board to dance,

to take me back.

I drop from standing,

cling to the board,

and dive into the wave.

.

I am under it.

I cannot breathe.

I see above a world askew.

Then I’m through,

paddling hard to grab the next one.

.

Waiting for the right wave,

to carry me toward the shore—

where everything I’ve learned

might finally steady me

and others

through the tides of the day.

.

© 2025 Michael Bates. All rights reserved.

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