by Ben Franco
Here he stands, at Cliff’s End.
Ground goes no further now,
plunging south into hell’s mouth.
And the rocky maw clashes
with the sweet Sea air.
The waves below scheme to fly
crashing waves of water
against obstinate sky
“No further you go”Land says to the Sea. “Be content in your
duty. Happy, as the Sea”
The waves regress, as the sun sinks to set
And still the man stands, at Cliff’s End.
At the very tip, a step further is a foot
on the sky, two steps – the shortest flight.
He looks over the edge, the rocks run
down like razors, and the wind howls in
The Sea has retreated,
baring teeth mighty and unforgiving
Salivating at the sight of the man,
the man standing at Cliff’s End.
He leans over the edge, that Bellows in anticipation, a spray of Sea’s breath
Beckons. The sleepy sun has gone, swallowed by Sea, and Star’s eyes are closed,
there is no light, only the black sky, and
the drowsy Sea.
The man leans further, further still.
Peering over the edge of Earth
into the maw of Sea
and reaches down into
the slumbering Blue
to grab the sun trapped
in It’s deepest depths.
But Earth falters, and the man falls
to the other side where
breathing the air has no meaning
and to drink is to dream.
But he reaches out and
grabs at the last of Cliff’s End,
holding the sun
in the palm of the other
and climbs up the rock
the clutching of Sea.
Risen back up with the sun in
his hand, here the man stands,
at Cliff’s End.