Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Sea Call - Hone Tuwhare

Sea Call
- Hone Tuwhare

Let the radio pip and shudder
at each dawn's news

Let the weatherman hint
a gaunt meaning to the chill
and ache of bone:
but when the new moon's bowl
is storing rain, the pull of time
and sea will cry to me

And I shall stuff my longing
in an empty pack
and hasten to the secret shore
where the land's curve lies
clad in vermilion - and the green
wind tugging gravely.

There let the waves lave
pleasuring the body's senses,
and the sun's feet
shall twinkle and flex
to the sea-egg's needling
and the paua's stout kiss
shall drain a rock's heart
to the sandbar's booming.


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