“Surfing Through the Currents of Time”

I linger in the liminal,

belonging neither to here nor there,

nor to what was, what is,

or what might come to be—

not until I simply am.

I gaze back at shadows and moments,

but tomorrow remains veiled.

I ride time’s rolling swell

between troughs,

upon crests.

This surge

moves on its own accord.

I ache for a shore

without a name.

Each droplet that falls

becomes minutes unbound.

I taste the brine of shattered hours.

The wave curls to collapse.

If I’m dragged beneath its weight,

I’ll shatter upon hidden reefs.

I compel my board to sway,

to spin me around.

I drop from stance,

grip its edges,

and plunge within the wave.

Below it,

breathless,

I glimpse a tilted world above.

Then I emerge,

paddling fast to seize

another rise.

I wait for that perfect wave,

the one that bears me to shore—

where all I’ve gathered

can anchor me,

and steady others too,

upon the restless tides

of dawn and dusk.