Rising naked on a surfing swell
I felt my wave crash by
and saw the crest I might have reached
before it fell away.
Amongst dripping retrospectives
in a box of salt and dread
was an old patched jacket blessed with holes
half stitched with tenuous thread.
Pulling on this life too small
rough hewn haste tear and mend
those familiar seams and ancient dreams
will float me to my end.
aplaceforpoetry 
Beautifully crafted.
Thank you Brice x