Last of the Ascension (Verse) - 12
In the Curl
He pushed the presence away—
as if dismissal were control.
The van returned—
sun, wind, Beck.
He held onto it—
longer than it could hold him.
Beside Beck—
he felt something impossible.
Ease.
Not earned—
which made it dangerous.
He stayed in it—
as long as it allowed.
But time—
does not loosen its grip.
The road shortened—
whether he wanted it to or not.
“You ever feel it, man?”
Beck’s voice—
still inside the moment.
“Hanging in the curl—
like the ocean chose you?”
“I would.”
The answer felt true—
which made it hurt.
“Maybe next time.”
“Next ride.”
Time, again—
spoken as if it waited.
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