it was always
that allured me:
the depth of the cerulean waters,
the foam of the waves,
the cry of the gull
the sting of the salt and the sand on my pale, apocalyptic legs.
The sea, the sea, sung its siren song to me.
But I have put away childish things.
It’s the mountains I long for now.
Those same sandstone ridges I walked and climbed and scrapped me knees on as a juvenile.
Once scorned for the sea,
whenever I’m by the water I find myself peering for those familiar peaks,
the deeply hewn valleys guarded by stones sentinels,
the smell of new rain among the gums,
and the blue haze on the horizon.
Beyond the towers of the city
it’s the plateaus and summits and bluffs that I look for,
and the glimmer of gold on stone that keeps at bay
the shadow and the gloom.