Surfing on the edge

You come surfing on a red wave
and the warm water washes the beach.
I stay put and get red up above my waist.
It’s hard not to get dragged along,
back to the sea.
But on land, in a distance,
a lonely saxophone is playing.
It’s crying.
I dig my toes into the sand
and resist
even the next wave.
I look in another direction
just when you’re falling

and the empty board
hits the back of my head.