Maybe enough light    •    to score a wave    •    reflecting moonlight, sand    •    reflecting
moonlight and you    •    spotting from shore    •    what you see only    •    as silhouette
against detonating bands    •    of blue-white effervescence    •    when the crown of the
falling    •    swell explodes upward    •    as the underwave blows through it    •    a flash
of visibility quickly    •    snuffed by night    •    the surf fizzling and churning    •
remitting itself to darkness    •    with a violent stertor    •    in competition with no other

paddling through dicey backwash    •    the break zone of    •    waist-high NW swell    •
as into a wall of obsidian    •    indistinguishable from night sky    •    diving under,
paddling fast    •    and before I sit    •    one arm over my board    •    I duck and    •
listen a moment underwater    •    to the alien soundscape    •    not daytime’s clicks and
whines of    •    ship engines and sonar    •    but a low-spectrum hum    •    the acoustic
signature of fish, squid,    •    crustaceans rising en masse    •    to feed at the surface I
feel    •    an eerie peacefulness veined with fear