Night Walk

My own prints will lead me back.
I measure them, just to be sure …
Day's last wave has crashed,
the surfers cruised in, shining and black
under that jewelled band of red.
In the half-light, each wave is a shadow
broken on its shadow, then released
into this white that seems to hold the day.
Whale-shaped, the headland concentrates
all depths, reaches, of grey; like a star,
the lighthouse with its slow subliminal wink.
The cliffs grow taller as I clamber forward
between sinking footprints and exploding surf —
lost, not yet frightened, whistling in the soft dark.