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The grass is just beginning to grow...
still a little brown as yet
where was once a house is now
abuzz with clover, feeding bees...

A house once stood where
horses grazed beside
fields of cabbages ... perhaps... or maybe
lettuces....

then before, in former times manuka scrub
pink and white
clothed seaside hills
tossed by sea winds....

I’ve seen sand dunes chase themselves,
running round to catch their speckled tails,
drifting to settle down into their usual place.

He is like the dunes, sometimes poetically just
- those clumsy attempts at moving and difference
seem comical, repetitive.

I see the August sun wakes this spring a little earlier,
a little more than in July, and less than last December.
I have noticed while I slept, there was little movement.

In those eyes there are deals and everything changes,
and in mine, they constantly repeat.

I felt your waking look upon my verse
so like a child I dressed my lines to please,
and in the night I prayed upon my knees,
blinking by the moon that broke the curse.

Unbeknown to me you sensed me sinking
caught the sea and turned its violent shore,
touched me with your hands that wanted more,
melted to my every wave of thinking.

Blushing words have kissed our sleep with fire
burning with our adolescent love;
see these littered stars that play above?
The place we intersect is surely higher.

Can you breathe midst this sprawling mass;
            the smug, self-satisfied
            sense of achievement.
 
Do you wave your bundle of rags;
            the glib dismissal
            of past failures.
 
Our fallen monuments submit
            to high-tech wonder;
            we live longer.
 
The longer we live, the weaker we are;
            we suck air and
            are expendable.
 
The will to live will keep us alive –
            our precious  life!

always you return
from the hills
to the sea
the sand
the broken shell
between

always the waves
pluck and dully
gather falling
the length
of breath
along a shore
soothing your
ankles

always you carry
shoes wet socks
in one hand
the other free
to wave on
thoughts
as far away and
emblazoned
as those clouds
on the horizon's
swell