twilight brings

its gradual descent of the night

on Seacliff

            and the sea and

            the clouds touch

merge into one blue-grey hue . . .

as with the sky

and the land

the trees turn ever darkening

shades of green

the last remaining residue

            of crimson

is stretched, elongated

            diffuse across the horizon

            and these seen things

            are mirrored within

            as my thoughts of you

            are repeated over and over

            ever changing

            ever increasing with the days

            the same subtle blend as landscape

of colours and shapes

sometimes clearly defined

            sometimes barely discernible

            and sometimes

                                    the darkness is complete . . .

the light beyond the horizon

            is te Marama

            who, when she shines

            touches the silent, sleeping

            soul of the earth

it is this unseen world

alive with the light

            of the unknown

where my love for you

            lies waiting -

beyond those tall trees

that rising darkness

and sensuous sundown

of strange, stark colours

te po, te po, te po aroha

            the moonlight world

            of our understanding

            the Polynesian darkness

            of light . . .

the candlelight flickered

and I was half in a dream

- more like a feeling of missing

  you and not knowing you

I stepped outside

and there the moon was rising

like the tip of a lightberg

shining through the dense

cloud cover

and I thought

              this is how I know you

              distant

                          with slowly

                                                evolving revelation . . .

I am trying to think of you

I am trying to imagine

              what you look like

              and all I can do

              is feel your absence

              like a mystery waiting to be solved

I cannot be near you

at our timeout of the month

and the full moon is hiding behind the rain

(the tears of Rangi, e Papa)

the sky is filled with separation

the horizon is the natural split

between (the sea) the earth and the sky

- but there is no split

              because there is 

                                          no touching . . .

wrapped in a blanket

I sit and listen

to the wind blow

hard out along the coast

whipping up the water

scraping and shaping the land ?

sending chunks of sure cliffs

crashing to the sea below . . .

cold wind was always

the worst to work in

sapping energy from my body

even before the first shovel-load

had been lifted from the earth

taurite nga moehewa o Aroha . . .

but now the wind has dropped

perhaps it will wait ?

then picking up my words

Te Hau will carry them

soaring southwards

over the dark hills

taking them gently

kia Aroha, down the valley

where they will reach you

as a whisper . . .