Fuel is my hands
recharged by wet, cold, sand
bonfires on warm beaches at the Pacific shore
white crabs shimmer like lit-up ghosts
flicker under dark-pitched waves

tropical summer storms taunt lightning
dip our electric bodies
into shimmering water

the thrill of the forbidden arts
of chasing death
has the panting taste of life
as you scuttle across wet cliffs
like a nimble crustacean

the jagged bluffs roar and puff in the thrashing water
while we look down from the headland
arms outstretched toward the foam

we pretended we would throw
each other into the black sharp crags
of La Punta Negra
ocean infested with aguamalas and stingrays

you dreamed you would become a diver as brave
as the ones you saw jump off La Quebrada
the great big gulch in Acapulco
sheer cliff walls
staring up at your soft breakable body
preparing itself for flight

churning waves wait
like sharks
for the signal of the first blood-
curdling whistle of the race
the narrow space between rock walls
closes on you

the surge of the water
rises to meet you in midair
you somersault into the sky like a swallow
chest puffed out, arms outstretched, head held high
your torso a blur of rock-colored limbs
plunges as the sun sinks its last rays
into the edge of the coast

blue-white currents
sizzle between the rocks
a turquoise rampage
where four children play
with the wild forces of the earth

their joy an invisible fuel shooting
from their young arms, a lungful of laughter
encompassing
the grace of the very first leap
of the child into the planet

a fish out of water
eyes closed to withstand
the full force of the atmosphere
rush into his bloodstream
like a newfound planet
streaming into our open pores.