Coastal Bluff

By B. Misty Wycoff

From this spot on the cliff

I see, or think I can see

the slight breathing arc

that lies out there

upon the water.

The soft horizon,

the earth’s edge

seen from deep space,

the curve that sweeps us

inside the dream

of flying around

in an atmosphere

too big to fathom.

On the beach,

a man finds a bit of string

pulls and trails it to a kite,

wedged in sand,

tissued into the shape

of a shark.

Walking with it,

it flies once again.

and time gathers him in

as he watches it tumble and soar.

Eventually, he buries the roll of twine,

leaving the fragile paper fish

now only an imagined predator,

following the wind.

Here we are

on a ball, spinning,

dizzying consciousness,

following something we cannot see.

The ruffled waters

appear to slip off the side,

dipping under the falling sun

while the sounds of the kite flapping,

ride into the night.