I stand on the deck of the boat,
brow furrowed against whipping hair,
wind lashing my back.
I watch my heart trampoline hard on the wake,
tethered to me with the thinnest rope.
He swings wide, an inked stylus
recording a round swell of current,
then jerks left and right, scratching
thick and black the sharp spikes of my fear.
A final jolt, and he slips under the dark water.
Later, we thump hard and fast back to the marina.
His brown skin glows a life vest orange,
his blue eyes closed against fat rain drops.
He scratches his jellyfish stings.