Don’t let go


    I can’t grip the tape like you,


    grind the wheels or turn the tail.


    You defy gravity like Ollies


    while I cling to your hand,


    afraid to pop the board skyward


    like an acorn climbing back into the trees.


    But I fear nothing, like skydiving instructors


    making a living off falling, if you hold my hands


    like the railing off a grand staircase,


    ushering me to the ball.


    A series of moments are all I take


    before I slowly peel my fingers from your arms,


    a baby bird dropping from the nest,


    the mother crossing her fingers


    as the child learns to fall,


    Stolen story; please report.


    learns to use her homegrown wings.


    It’s slow like breathing,


    but I rumble, skating along


    painted sidewalk lines like a train


    finding the comfort of rails.


    Grab a board and join me,


    hold my hand as we float across,


    hearts kickflipping like thirteen-year-old olympians.


    Uncharted


    Roll me the parallel plotter


    and draw an unwavering line


    from us to a point of departure


    winking on the horizon.


    Draw hundreds of lines,


    all intent on completing a dozen trips


    around the world like Phileas Verne.


    We’ll determine our bearing


    by the speed of our hearts.


    Pull me outside of myself,


    out of the ship, out of the sea,


    to the ancient tombs of books


    you thrive in like a raider,


    pillaging the best words and phrases


    and reworking them into something new.


    Put the pen in my hand


    and lead me into the deep waters,


    no longer uncharted.