SOC Writing _ 31.3.21

Tears

Falling – like the ocean – down, drown – mists of the inner patupaiarehe – the white skinned ones come to skin us alive – in their red hair I find a new definition of pain and suffering – alone and for this job to be done requires none – no thing – but young one you have set something moving in me – a bell ringing that is shrieking in my ears – where do I go from here? Where is north now? In under the cloud cover – I duck for cover as the rain begins to wash, wash me clean – the persistency of her drops – the cover of fullness under sheets of water I lay naked – trying to feel into what is here now – and take the long walk to the sea past my friend the tree. Bowing low – their leaves tattered by the sun – now tomorrow humus – we are dust, dirt, becoming nothing – everything – I wonder how we got here, what magic weaved, what spell cast – the whole gamut of everything arriving as it seems – at once - and only now do I realise that what started as a small instinct to move towards you would over take me in this glorious way – a day of joy and desire where none was before. The heavy old pohutukawa of Kelburn continue their strength in the midst of crushed roots and man’s melancholy spells of progress. I alight upon the soil of your land lightly, brightly asking only that you take the time necessary for this ferment to really get tasty – know that the keeping without tasting has to be done – you know this and I love it about you – wiser than I gave you credit for – you have forged quite a knife inside that life of yours – blade glinting behind your winking skin – promising a clean cut – a devious look into the book of a life unfolding – as I marvel at the beauty of our togetherness – under this raining sun on this day in Kelburn – a day of becoming and coming undone.