Cliff Jumping in Lagos, Portugal

I stand on the top of a tall cliff
jutting out over the ocean.
I am very alone here, and
the last glow of sun
has left the oceans skin.

The bats have come out
and are swooping
around my head
and though I like them,
I’m getting afraid.
It was a risky climb
up chains bolted to the cliff face.
Now it’s too dark
to get down, so
I tilt back my head
and watch the blur of brown bat bodies
scar the air
hundreds upon hundreds
of these dark, diving shapes.
A rush of vertigo –
I crouch
and remember that
the way I fight fear
is with more fear.
I back up
to the edge of the plateau
take off my jeans and
stuff my shirt in one pocket
then tie them around my waist
I hold my arms out
and feel air moving strangely,
swirling almost hot
around my naked body.
Then I run so fast
that I can’t stop at the edge
even if I want to.
Suddenly
I am falling through layers
of tears and sandpaper
the wind feels so very
fluid, yet rough.
I tuck my knees to my chest
as I slap the water.
Plunging under
I truly believe
I can stay here forever,
and air is for fools.
Something sharp cuts my foot
and reminds me that yes,
I am a fool
and yes, my foolish body
needs air.
I ride the black waves back to shore
and sit on the empty beach
watching my
goose-pimpled flesh
lose its tan
in the moonlight.
I stretch my clothes out on long flat rocks
and wait for them to dry
while sitting
and lapping the blood off my foot
with a tongue as rough
as those sandpaper winds