I think of a storm
Of raging ocean waves.
The kind that surfers dream of.
And us, out at sea, 
throwing ourselves into the swell.
Seeing the life in the water
but ill-equipped to ride it.
Crashing again and again,
churning in sand and foam — 
exhausted arms and legs
reach out for the shore.
Then land.
Surrendered to wet sand and stone,
look back and see the racing waves.
Reminder of what passed.
In humbling acceptance of limitations.

Salt-watered cheek and lip
the only reminder
of a strained adventure.
Of reaching for experience.
Of tracing the boundary
of the edge of possibility.