The Hoe

 
The Hoe
High Tide, 10.30 am, Swell, 8°c

Her heavy breath changes our terrain,
in rain, her rage such a wicked force
and yet we as babies of water rise
for a course of freedom and salt
sailing on her swell and our brutish strength, we beat fault, fear and froth
with legs aggressive as bulls charging.

A hypnotic beacon is our buoy, hidden regularly by a Titan tide, and though we are brave, it's a challenge -
we manage, a tribe of warriors.
We are sea sisters, one tires, all turn back. We feel the resistance,
grab hold of our instincts. Our hearts, bones, are fueled by fire. We swim
for stairs, back to life, to stare out at all we've achieved, in our wholeness -
In her wholeness.