WINDY MORNING KAYAKING PRATT BEACH

today I take
only what the Lake gives me

what oceanographer can measure the height of swells
on sight? 	no conquest only quagga mussel infestation

today the Lake wants me like a 	pawing 	overeager lover 
& I sprawl myself on top of its welcome

today is white-capped 	& the first time 
swells knock me off my kayak shoulder missing lake bottom rocks

humble thyself homie
in the sight of the Lake

northwestern winds 		& no room for ego
do you want to go home? 	do you want your arms to yearn to

nag in neglect until before bed when you do push-ups?
or do you want to have fun?

no concern for horizons 	no pondering time in these swells
only the water in front of you

paddle droplets on a life jacket
puddles in the boat

ribs in the sand after & pluck
a hair from the back of my thumb

THE TREES MY DUDES THE TREES

headbanging kelp forests 	the sea-cats
of Chile’s beaten coast hunt with agility implying they
could probably guard Kevin Durant one-on-one		(in the dark

the stoned horror writer
makes a note of vampire bats on screen)	evergreen rainforests where I

would maybe melt out of reverence 		can I kiss the mapungauri’s hand?

                                                                    ambush is easy enough when you
                                  look like a leaf the narrator says about frogs

reincarnate me as a dew drop above the Valdivian Forest
seems a million times more
purposeful & fulfilling than 21st century USA

the trees the trees are so many can you
		see the trees & not praise the trees my comrades-in-leaves?
can you see the Chilean palm trees mix with Valdivian species & not worship the earth?

                                                    the trees the trees marvel at the trees
                                  & cacti grow in the clearings

the trees depend on monito del monte
to swallow their seeds whole & shit out germinating pods in sticky residue
this animal is 40 million years old we’re talking first mammal old

that should be sacred the trees should be 
considered a holy site

                                  & the monkey puzzle tree resistant 
                 to volcanic ash can you even believe
how big the world is? 		how tall the trees?

can you even believe how impossibly small
even a 20-story apartment building is? & yet each life contained within a treasure? even thousands of miles from these sacred trees? 			what a treat
                                               to be alive to be stoned & up late
& watching a streaming service I only have
so my son can watch Mickey & Bluey & Spider-Man 	(& I can watch Star Wars)

& no there’s more there’s the divine
dewey & shaggy with cacti in the clearing 
the trees my dudes the trees

we end as we began
water-bound
confronted with wave battering

---

Author’s Note: Summer—and by extension kayaking season—is fleeting. Yet the water is eternal if we manage it properly. There should always be a Lake Michigan and therefore should always be summer days I can spend cradled and held atop its currents, one of millions of grateful water passengers. I’ve never personally seen the beauty of Chile’s landscape or wildlife or people or culture, but I really hope to one day, and it bums me out how much climate change could affect all of that. So these poems, to borrow an idea from my friend and co-host Bob Sykora, are attempting to freeze two marvelous moments in time: a day I went kayaking and a night I spent watching a nature documentary. With hopes that this act of reverence through art can honor such sublime connection with the wider world and inspire more.

Chris Corlew is a writer and musician living in Chicago. His work has appeared in Cotton Xenomorph, Whisk(e)y Tit, The Rumen, Cracked.com, and elsewhere. He can be found blogging at shipwreckedsailor.substack.com or on Bluesky @thecorlew.