I am told that the waves kill you
I am told they reduce you.
Blind mute deaf exhaustion.
Swaddled in liquid iron.
I am told they roll you.
Tightly and evenly.
Weight and gravity’s obsession.
I am told they rip you.
So swiftly you lose sensation.
Cede and be emptied.

But Idling offshore,
the line of gulping tides
release to the feet of the lighthouse.
I belong to its fire.
Idling offshore,
the wind off the eucalyptus
burns in my throat
seeping like regret.
Idling offshore,
I hear the sand
shift between their toes.
I know they are waiting.

Idling offshore,
I decide
to let go.
For I trust
that the tide
knows my time
better than I.