A Windy Afternoon

Young puppy of a wind
chasing his tail in criss–cross flurries
this way that way
over a Cornish–coloured sea
wave after silver wave;
stirring up curds of may,
rumpling fresh leaves of trees,
snuffing at ferns,
meaning no harm
sets panic–stricken clouds
racing for cover
over forbidden sheepfolds of the sky

And me, with skirt disordered,
hat dislodged
he tugs, laughing and breathless
along the cliff–top, turning me
just for an afternoon
into a girl again.