A boy (dark-haired, 10, shirtless) stands on the grassy top of a cliff.
After a while, he begins to pick up stones to throw into
or at the turquoise ocean 200 feet below.
His stones barely clear the edge and then
drop to the rocks below.
He runs closer and closer before letting the catapult of his arm fling.
Each time, the stones hit rocks, though now
rocks far enough from the cliff’s foot,
which have themselves fallen from the face and become
nearly far enough themselves to break waves.
Finally he runs to the precise edge
and his stone clears the rocks.
He sees its small splash against the rising face of water.
He thinks he could run once more, though
by now his shoulder aches
and the lowering sun changes the colors of water.
He knows too much of his feet will pass the cliff’s edge
and his heels might not hold him, the weight and ache of him.