If facing the paper, your thought is 'I am an artist', you have no clue what to do. If the concepts of your function are, 'I am a shape maker, an entertainer, an expressive symbol collector'...then you have an explicit road map. Edgar Whitney

Monday, December 27, 2010

waiting for a lover on Rabbit Island

This poem was published in The Press, Christchurch, 24 December 2010

love knuckles up
in knots of bulbing young cones
on pine branches beyond
yearn and reach

the sea hurls  shells
at the roots I collect
them my flaw is patience
I bury and wait

my flaw is dauntless and
alone in the thick scented
pine forest perfectly
still salt water covers my
feet shells bob nudge
and whimper for embrace

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