taut

The idea of you slacking,
though, is beyond funny
to begin with, and could only
ever be jest.

There is in you,
and in the effect of you,
nothing slack, Miss Mack. Even if
you weren't a regular and comforting,
steadying presence around here, the force
and velocity of your passage
as you come through -

each time your curved trajectory
crossed our tranquil waters would leave
a taut line arcing behind, raising waves
stretching out forever as the shear you make
tears through, girdling the earth like Jörmungandr
and we all writhe, shout, thrash, and catch air -

surfing for weeks in the breaks of your wake. Eh?