It’s not a break,

It’s just a bruise. A cushion,
Tender swell
of blood beneath the skin,
First dusty lilac, hints of navy.
Sailing on the bay at dusk, aloft,
the dappled rising surface.
Tacking swiftly with the breeze,
Then contact with the boom––
A whack, and aching. One
swoop of the seagull’s wing.
A wince and then a bruise.
Yet it will fade to muddy green
Before it heals––
The shadowed shallows of the water’s edge.
Wading through the algae first
Before emerging on the clear expanse,
An untouched shore of virgin sand.
When finally the murky mists
Disperse, the skin is clear.
It’s just a bruise.