This was going to be a piece
Where I expunged the flickering flame of sadness
That fickle prickle lurking
Whenever I take my shoes off
And show you my weird ankles
Or how that nail never quite grows right
But its OK sometimes
When pain slips through the callouses
And sticks between my toes
I may limp for a while
And keep my laces done up tight
But every wincing step reminds me
Barefoot freedom on the grass
Is worth this prickle price

When a sadness grips me
Asking what I'm letting go of
Is as good as any other tissue.

Thoughts on What I Need at This Juncture

I need these trees
Which reach down beneath the bones in the garden
And hold something steadier than the dip of twilight
I crave their rough and honest skin
Questioned by relentless Wellington weather
Answering in gentle unyielding bends

I need something
On which to pin my insides
Unfurled in all their flagging strength
To bravely wave when Northerlie rage
And rip at the ragged ends of me

I need a thought
Not my own crumpled creation
One whose breath reaches back to lost Gardens
And bids muck and dust to rise