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The road to Bronte gathered them up
winding anxiously down into the oceans front
toward two cafes of wood
table and chair
throwing away the clouds from her face

The north coast veranda breathed in the wind
meeting the rains water for summer to fly
onto the rivers peaceful edge
flirting amongst the oceans screaming shores

Moving southbound to Sydney had all passed now
the green army bag
short hair
reckless naïve
hitchhiking through the Putty to Riverstone

His balcony left the city looking at him in picture form
water ebbed quietly against the fragmented jetty
lights dazzled in his aging eyes
she approached to sit beside his open chair

Bronte, the north coast
the road south
the city
Was she in all places?
Had they met before?
sitting next to his windswept feet
he wondered