Surf-Boarding

Our palms are wet, our fingers clinging
Like sea-weed. I hear you singing,
As over waves, from crest to crest,
With fear a sickle in our breast,
With fear a whistling in our mouth,
We turn the surf-board south-east…south!
We shift our weight and slide and pass
Like shadows gliding over glass.
We stretch our bodies taut like sails,
Until our icy fingernails
Press on our palms; and we are plunging
Into the surf, and upward lunging,
Until our mouths gape open, wet,
And spray gleams on our lips like sweat.

And overhead a wave like thunder
Turns the board. And we go under!