Salty dog breath hits me
up here but I shouldn't
look down. I look down.

Every night the sea's
at the white cliff
taking back its dead
but there's no hurry.

Here's where I come
once in a while
to listen to my disappeared.
I'd say they like it here
above the dim strand,
beyond amours and griefs
perched on the phone lines.

There's no hurry;
they'll stay as long as I sit,
my one hand clutching grass,
my life in the other.

I look down, they say:
your life, you'll remember
how heavy it is. How light.