I’ve captured the cliff’s whistle in my curls.

That crash of the tide

against a shoreline of pebbles

histories below me –

the way it reverberates

between the cliff’s curled lips

and carries up

in gusts

to hum for me.

I’ve let my hair down

to embed that echo

and keep it caught near my ears,

to listen

when I climb back

down, down, down

from these wondrous heights.