Bronte walk

I never was a beach walker
Days warm down Tamarama
But there’s some­thing about the edges of cliffs
And the walk between Bronte and Bondi
Exer­cise spaces and wooden beams
Winds call­ing me to jump and me
Barely res­ist­ing. I climb over the wall
Right near the sign which clearly states
Do not pass this point.
If I sit in the cave just round the bend,
I can’t even see Camp­bell St,
Sky and sea and hori­zon all there is,
The surf loud far beneath me,
The curi­ous gulls flying too close.
And this is Sydney for me, long ago memories
I miss, places and spaces and ocean
Anger and calm, the tug and pull
Of salt and spray and time and sun
Far from here, warmth a dis­tant ache
In cold bones and muddy rivers.