Waves

The ocean's wrist
is the point at which
the curvature its hand
meets the land's invitation
to dance the apotheosis
of every deep water urge.

One flick and the 
carpal tunnels, 
barreled by the 
lunar cooper,
drunk after a 
hanging moment
(for aging) by
another wave
whose particular
confusions feed
the yearning,
turning, body
surf.