Along The Cliffs

Stuck to a tarred stone on the road —
a butterfly I imagine still living.
But it accepts my touch: copper and
ivory wings set at an angle, split.
I walk on with the sun behind me,
my scarf flaps like a ragged wing
from my shadow slanting towards home.
Almost beyond sight, a shape hovers
above the cliffs, sweeps towards me
till I see him clearly — green
boiler suit, goggles and gold helmet
beneath a triangular sail of gold
and green. I head into the sting
of wind and sand as he skates away
from me now, then stays, rising
and falling through my horizon.
The lines between cliff and sea
and sky are blurring. I think of him
gliding on as darkness deepens,
his weight resisting, buoyed up
by air currents he must know
as intimately as his breath.
His body slants and angles
like a lover's, he floats unseen
between earth's nightchill
and the darker cold of the sea.