But The Waves Break Me

I bake the bread
but I do not make
the waves –
I mix and match
the elements
without a recipe,
don’t need a text
to see what’s next.
But the waves
break me.

And where I ride
the spume flecked
crests in a fantasy
I carp and quail when
the waves take me.

The waves take me
where they want to go,
the waves make me
a stone to throw,
the waves resurge,
resound, rebound –

waves that drown my
ignorance, waves that
teach me how to dance
waves that breach
my immunity.

I bake the bread as a baker
just, but the waves break me.
© 22 April 2007, I.D. Carswell