Froth

In the clamorous dark:  roar of water, endless green rush,

and your smile.  Damp but not dampened, in pearls of spray. 

 

Our drowsy boat nods 

in the shallows.  Even at night, gulls sail through cloaks of mist, flashing

 

sudden white and speckled wings.  With one hand, you steady the skiff,

with the other, reach for me

 

as I step to the centerboard.  Eddies whirl

around us.  The little boat trembles.  You let rough hemp

 

slide through your hands.  Release the skiff

into the froth.  Steer us into the current.

 

A tumbled moon sails over the water.  Faint light caresses

your face.  Your hands

 

slip into my shadowed places

Clouds race.  Water plunges. 

 

My breath.  Your hands.  We surge

downstream, laughing.  Wild ride. 

 

Splash of water,

taste of sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mary Stebbins Taitt

for Keith Taitt

070309-2a; 1c, 11-10-02, 1^st, at Niagara