At sleepy dawn

At sleepy dawn, the sky is still joined to the sea.
In the muted light, it slowly rises,
It’s every bump and curve imprinted lovingly on the water below.
Mirroring, reassuring- presenting the perfect picture of harmony in the day.
At dusk, Venus is blatant in her flirting and twinkling-
She waits impatiently,
To be whisked away into the sun’s fiery orange bedroom.
Outside, the hairy bikers descend at the weekend-
About ten thousand or more,
Blast their way through serene towns and villages.
The cyclists, however, keep up the strenuous pedalling,
They appear at one with their simple contraptions
In their alien, tubular outfits,
They hurtle down the other way.
The jagged rocks on the cliff face glare like petrified ghouls,
Hollowed out, and a deep red.
Over which, a teenage boy chose to climb- French, with flip flops on his feet
We see him fall from about ten metres,
We were sure he'd broken a bone or two.
Winded, he lay, accepting a sip of our water.
Our feet tingle down the loose gravel, at the scene just witnessed.
Even the turquoise pool with its smooth pebbles and fanning algae
Seems dangerous and makes my head whirl.
We’ve reached Sa Foradada, the rock with a gaping hole
Where incredibly there is a cafe that serves delicious cake
And cafe con leche.
“How is he?” We asked the family, as we headed up from the tranquil sea,
“Getting wiser,” said the father, a doctor, “Slowly,” said the sister.