Dec 26
Trinity
Trinity of black-bodied surfers,
father, son, and holy ghost,
gather themselves along the wave line.
Their boards– sometimes underfoot,
sometimes underhanded,
solid supports in shifting space;
immersed in baptismal water,
bodies buoyed by black
neoprine along surface swells
catch the break and ride ashore.
Pam Olson, 02/05
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This poem was written at Battle Rock State Park in Port Orford, Oregon. (pko)
Hi Pam, catching the break is the hard part. I love the first verse, reading it and looking at the picture gave me chills.