CLIFF DIVERS They perch on the sunwashed cliff or in dives timed to the rush of water soar, poised mid-air in our photographs. Like a cheap tropical prop, one large palm tree holds the wind still. Time is marked by a disorderly gathering of boats in the currents of a sea far too blue.  I am caught off guard by his absence, and then I recognize him standing behind the girl in the yellow dress, his white shirt pulled taut over his back, his arms folded over his chest, a characteristic pose.  I am mistaken.  I chide myself for failing to put him at the center of the scene, until I remember how he left me in the crowd to buy cold beer for both of us and returned to stand behind me, his hand on my shoulder while we watched the divers, even then knowing they were less reckless than we.