The swallows are diving

in the light of the evening,

unfurling themselves and

arrowing ceaselessly

into the deepening

reservoir above our heads.

 

They cry wildly to one another

caught in the sway of their daring

like the boys at Cala Algaiarens

who lept from the crooked rocks

for the gasps of tourists,

their tail ends scissoring

into the bright blue.

 

Now they’re keeping their promise here,

in the cooling air

above our dampening table,

these children who won’t come to sleep

are beating back night

with every swoop.