Kayaks

The silver film spread, pulsing soft,
The buoyant plastic held aloft,
Bound by rock and rugged beach,
Broke by paddles each by each.

The gentle sway of little boat,
Accompanied by weeds afloat,
In ocean water extending west,
Seen far beyond eyesight best.

Progress slow but progress made,
A timid pull follows slice of blade,
Sliding forward, then try to brake
Lest sleeping monster we should awake.