Crouched on the cliff edge, looking out to sea
Heaving ocean wanders in, pummels at the loaves of rock.
It’s right to take some rest like this, on earth’s upper lip
Her breath the crumbling waves, carried on the breeze.
I breathe the way my father sipped, his cool evening ale
Then drew clean his clowny beard of foam.
I breathe the way my mother does, when the slender westerlies
Run through her hair.