at some point the tantrum of the current will take you under,
with no mercy at it’s fingertips, at dawn or early dusk,
through murky waves of dark blue satin, under rocks and across wood adrift.
the current will capture and have it’s way with you
leave you powerless in it’s suffocating grip
a thief of the air you are gasping for
no one sails these waters
yet they yearn for a space to tie their knot
stingrays hover over bottom feeders
eager for a taste of the weary
the tides tease the sand
and sing it a lullaby
before the moon decides that it’s full
may I have another dance?