Rowing

 Rowing

 

Come, row with me—

my small boat cutting through the restless sea;

Two blades, one rhythm—chase

that far-off beach beyond the break.

We’re strong; we lean into the swell—

it won’t be long if we don’t let it win.

We’ll take that shore like treasure—paired.

…

 

Climb in—

our canoe waits, bow pointed true.

Let’s shove off—water slaps the hull—

into Kāneʻohe Bay—water clear as glass over coral heads,

to the sandbar—where rays stitch shadows in the shallows—then farther.

And swear this vow:

hold fast to each other,

through wind that tries to spin us broadside,

through squalls that drum the deck,

through reef-pass surge, where the tide grabs hard and lets go.

Our oars bite, surge, and flash—silver schools scattering below—

stroke for stroke—threading the reef, watching turtles rise and dip—

on the blue edge past the reef, where deep water begins,

until the coastline lifts out of salt and storm—ours.