Three men and a woman
stretch over the edge
challenge each other
to hang out further,
young laughter.

Gulls,
their home on the cliff face,
perch in layers,
dive from crevices -
scream.

I move up the path
where cliffs are higher
the walkway narrows
and fewer people pass.

Now I'm on my own
watching waves break,
counting striations,
wobbly reflections,

wind pushing my back
one long step down.

Rosy Wilson